Finding Eden
by GlamourGirl190
Summary: Miranda is normal. And like any normal person, she has her demons. Her problem? She doesn't know what exactly they are. Flung into a strange world at war in the midst of her search for answers and peace, she finds herself struggling to survive and more confused than ever. But she's running out of time, and the answers she finds only complicate everything further...
1. Prologue

**A new story! One of many I've written, but this is my first story outside of the TDWAP trilogy that I'm actually posting. A fair warning, this story is quite a bit darker than my other ones, so don't expect light and fluffy here. I also understand that this won't be everyone's cup of tea, but I do expect respect. In other words, I welcome constructive criticism, but if you don't have something constructive or positive to say, I'd ask you to keep the thought to yourself. Please and thank you in advance!**

**As far as updating goes, I do have a lot of this written already, so updates will come steadily. That being said, I am leaving some time in between to edit, so I won't be adding a new chapter every day. If for some reason it's been a month since I've updated this, or something like that, do feel free to bug me about it. Most likely, I'll be ready to post it and I'll just have forgotten to actually do it. (Chances of that are slim, however).**

**And here's the ever-necessary disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC, the rest is the creation of C.S. Lewis's fantastic imagination. **

**Enough business! I'm looking forward to hearing what you guys think of this, so please do feel free to drop a review. Similarly, if you really want the story to go in a particular direction or want to see a certain scene written in, I'll do my best to find a way to work it in if I can. Some things are set, but I'm always open to suggestions.**

**And without further ado, here is the prologue! You can expect Chapter 1 to be up within two weeks. **

**Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

Running. It's the first thing she knows.

She's running now, so fast she can barely breathe; like she ran as a kid, when the worst thing after her was her cousin pretending to be the Boogeyman. But this time, there's a real monster on her trail. And he's getting closer.

She runs faster, faster than she ever thought she could, because she's desperate and she has to get away and he tried to take a piece of her, and if she doesn't keep running he'll take it with a knife to her throat.

Did she leave her phone in the house? She's done for without a link to civilization, to someone who can help her. Her coat is in the house, and her purse isn't hanging from her shoulder. She has nothing but her own two legs and her determination to get away.

She doesn't even know where she is.

But she doesn't care; she just knows she has to get away somewhere, to anywhere on earth but here.

If she stops, he'll win. He'll take her, and she won't be able to stop him.

Her heart pounds in her ears, an erratic thumping that drowns out everything else. Vaguely, she hears his shouts, his curses, but they slip past her as if she's made of smoke. She can't even hear his footsteps chasing after her. Just her heart.

_Thump, thump. Thu-thump thump._

Her lungs burn and her legs cramp as she pushes on. Her heart threatens to beat itself out of her chest. The thought that her heart could give out gets through the fog in her head. If she slows down, he'll take it. And if she keeps going like this, she'll collapse and he'll catch her anyway.

She understands what it is to feel hopeless now.

He's coming; she can hear him now. He's close, and getting closer every second. She isn't strong enough to keep going, and now she's going to pay the price for her weakness.

She knows she only has seconds to decide how she wants to lose: fighting or giving up. When the scream tears from her throat, she realizes that somehow, some way, she chose the former.

A hand grabs her hair, yanks her backwards hard towards the pavement. A dull crack sounds in her ears, and for a moment it's the only sound in her world. Pain explodes across the back of her skull, blinding pain that covers her world in black spots.

It's over. There's nothing to be done.

All at once, she goes limp. Didn't he tell her it'd hurt less if she didn't resist? Or is that her own mind trying to keep her alive?

A tongue swipes up her neck as ugly hands roam her. She almost recoils from the slimy feel of everything. He was full of shit; this is far from pleasurable.

"There's a good girl," he croons against the shell of her ear. "I always did like the chase."

Her trembling starts up all over again, escalating until her head is banging on the asphalt from the force of her shakes. She jostles her head, as if a concussion can make the words disappear forever. Already her stomach is churning, and she can taste the bitter, stale vomit at the back of her throat.

The jangle of a belt buckle snaps her into painful reality again. Without meaning to, she starts trying to scramble away, limbs flailing blindly, nails clawing air. Cold hands, clammy hands, grasp her wrists and hold her down until she sags in their grip again. She can't think, can't process anything that happens then. Flashes of a body over her dart through her brain, but nothing sticks. If he commands her to do anything, she's not aware of obeying or disobeying.

But one thing registers, when something presses at the back of her throat: she was told to fight for her first time. And right now, he was vulnerable.

A moment passes. She finds a corner of her mind that isn't completely shut down. She knows what she has to do. And she bites down. Hard.

The next thing she's aware of is the sickening, metallic taste of blood. It coats her teeth, drips out of the sides of her mouth, trickles down her throat in a warm flood of bitterness. She's choking on the stuff, but her mouth is no longer being invaded. In one motion, she turns on her side, coughs out the crimson evidence, and pulls herself to her feet.

Running. She's always running.

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><p><strong>Review!<strong>


	2. Chapter 1

**Wow, I wasn't expecting such a positive response to just the prologue! Thank you to Dark-Enough-Conspiracy-Theory, rosegold1996, and Banana for leaving a review, you guys made my day!**

**You can expect the next chapter soon :)**

**Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

"Psst, Miranda!"

She starts awake as soon as she feels a hand on her arm. Her heart rate spikes, and she isn't sure why. This is her friend Leila; there's no reason to be jumpy.

"Sorry, I can't seem to stay awake," she mumbles, offering an apologetic smile that somehow seems insincere after a gaping yawn.

"I'm fine with you sleeping through Chem, but you know how Sra. Mendez is. Sleeping equals participation deduction equals un grado muy mal. Capisce?"

"Leila, that was the worst Spanglish I've ever heard. And you do realize capisce is Italian, right?"

Leila waves a careless hand and grins.

"I won't need Spanish in art school, will I?"

"One can only hope. You're worse at it than me, and that's an accomplishment in and of itself," Miranda whispers back.

"Ladies!"

She jumps in her seat and has her second round of heart palpitations at the sharp reprimand of the teacher.

"Surely your conversation must be quite important if you feel the need to have it in the middle of my lecture. Do share with the rest of us, por favor."

"Lo siento, señora," Miranda replies before Leila can say something smart and get them in even bigger trouble. "I was just asking her about the midterm exam. I've lost my study guide."

"Such a shame."

Miranda tries not to comment that Sra. Mendez really doesn't think it's quite a shame at all, actually.

"Save such conversations for after class." Surely satisfied that she's embarrassed them enough, the good señora returns to the chalkboard to continue the lesson on verb conjugation.

Leila and Miranda trade amused smiles before returning to their tedious note-taking, counting down the minutes until lunch in the margins.

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><p>"God, one more day of that crazy woman and I quit."<p>

"Ever the charmer, aren't you?" Miranda returns.

"Seriously! I'm not reading a chapter of Don Quixote in a language other than English!" Leila whines through a mouthful of hot dog.

"Art school still likes its applicants to have passed high school, right?"

"I'm passing everything! Including Spanish!"

"And you'll need to study if you want to keep that up," Miranda says.

Leila instantly stills like she's been shocked. Miranda wonders what she said, but then she looks at her hands. She's gone three shades paler, and it suddenly feels so very cold.

"Did they turn on the AC in the middle of winter?" She tries laughing it off, and Leila smiles hesitantly. "Seriously, I want my coat. And a Snuggie."

"Good idea," is all Leila can seem to come up with.

Miranda knows something's up; Leila's moods don't change this quickly. Asking seems like a bad idea, however. Leila is avoiding her curious glance with all the subtlety of a trumpeting elephant, and when Leila can't even bring herself to make some offhand joke about it, it's bad and she doesn't want to talk about it.

But Miranda can still ask if she's okay and hope for the best.

"Are you okay?"

Leila waves the question off, and Miranda tries not to be disappointed.

"Yeah, I got hypothermia for a moment. Seriously, it's like they enjoy turning the heating system off or something."

"The joys of a budget."

Both of them pretend not to notice that the rest of lunch passes with little more than tense silence and pathetic attempts at small talk they both can see through.

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><p>The familiar click of the key turning in the front door sets Miranda's teeth on edge. When she notices how tense she's become, her muscles practically locked into paralysis, she purposely forces herself to relax. What's been with her today? First getting spooked by Leila's hand on her arm, and now freezing up at the sound of a key turning the tumblers of the front door lock.<p>

Shaking her head at herself, she slips inside and closes the door with a resounding bang that instantly soothes her. Loud noises have always soothed her, for some odd reason.

In the same vein, she tosses her car keys onto the dining room table to further announce her arrival to her mother.

"How was school?" Her mother's voice rings out of the bedroom, sounding distracted and decidedly not interested.

Miranda knows what to say. "It was fine."

"Good."

And back her mother goes to furiously working on her research. Having a college professor as a parent has its perks, but an abundance of quality family time is not one of them. Still, Miranda relaxes at the familiarity.

"Do you need any help grading midterms?"

"That would be wonderful!"

Just as Miranda dumps her bookbag on the floor of the kitchen, the phone rings.

"Get that, would you?"

"It's Dad. You sure?"

"You answer it," comes the cryptic reply.

Miranda shrugs and picks up the phone. She's heard her parents fight a little more than usual lately; now she's just waiting for the current storm to pass.

"Hey Dad. You on the way back from work?"

"Just left the office. Tell your mother not to worry about dinner tonight. We're eating out."

"Fight was that bad, huh?"

"Nothing to worry about, kiddo. Stress at work is getting to both of us."

She accepts this explanation, of course. This time of year is always a little more hectic.

"I'll tell her. Drive safe."

"Always do."

She hands up then. The click of the "end call" button makes unpleasant goose-bumps pop up on the back of her neck, leaving her once again confused at her body's odd reactions to random things today.

"Mom, Dad's taking us to dinner. He'll be home in an hour," Miranda says as she walks into the storm of loose papers, wall calendars, post-it notes, and the occasional bag of chips that passes as her mother's office. A messy workplace is a happy workplace, her mother always said. Really, Miranda's sure that's just a convenient excuse to put off cleaning the place for another week until the junk gets knee-deep.

"Oh? How nice of him."

Miranda knows that tone; it's the tone her mother gets when she's feeling sorry for whatever things she yelled at him last night.

"You go get ready, I'll start on the grading," Miranda says with a knowing purse of her lips.

"Just the short answers, dear!" Her mother flits out of the office like an overeager bird leaving the nest for the first time.

"Yes, Mom."

Miranda settles down, hopping over a few toppling stacks of books as she makes her way to the plush computer chair that is easily her mother's favorite thing of the entire house. As she grabs the first stack of papers, one of the books slides off the top of the stack and falls open.

Before she even realizes what's happening, Miranda catapults herself backward in the chair and into the wall, knocking down a bulletin board on the way. Her heart's leapt into her throat, and the next thing she knows she's staring wide-eyed at the book with its fluttering pages like it's a snake poised to strike. She only realizes she's wheezing and hyperventilating when her head starts to spin.

"Honey, is everything alright?" comes her mother's worried voice.

"I'm fine, I just tripped on a stack of books," she calls back.

Why is her voice shaking?

The sound of rattling papers draws her attention. Why are her hands shaking? She's shaking like a leaf, and she can't seem to stop.

"Shit," she mumbles. The midterms she so carefully grabbed are spilling out of her hand and into the sea of papers below.

"The hell is wrong with me?" she whispers to the tests slipping through her fingers. Unsurprisingly, they don't answer, and she's left feeling confused and more than a little scared.

She tries to gather up the tests, but her hands can't seem to grip anything properly. Even her knees are knocking together. So she's left with no choice but to sit tight in the chair and breathe as calmly and deeply as she can. She's been feeling off all day, but this is getting ridiculous.

"Christ, I might be the one who needs a damn shrink," she grumbles. Her parents go to a relationship counselor once a month, and now she's wondering if she shouldn't make an appointment with the office. They have quite the sparkling reputation for helping troubled teens. Of course, most of those are depression cases, but still.

Several long, tense minutes pass as she sits there with her head in her hands and her elbows on her knees. She curls up in the chair Indian-style, and that helps a little. The sound of the shower water running helps too, and slowly she finds that her heart is slowing and her hands aren't shaking quite so badly.

At last, she thinks she's calm enough to stand up and get out of there.

"Hey Mom, I just remembered I have a test later this week, I'll do the grading after dinner." She's relieved that her voice doesn't shake as she tells the small lie, though her legs still feel like pogo sticks.

"No problem, hon!"

In truth, she doesn't have a test until next week, but she just might start studying now anyway. She practically lectured Leila on the importance of studying anyway, she may as well live up to her talk.

As she grabs her backpack and scrambles upstairs to her room, she pretends not to notice how her head spins at the creak of that step three from the top.

* * *

><p>The restaurant is much nicer than the usual post-fight places; the air hangs heavy with the smells of seared filet mignon, boiled lobster tail, and glasses of wine. It's savory and a little bitter and sour and mouth-watering all at once.<p>

"Just how big was the fight, Dad?" Miranda murmurs to him as the waitress leads them to a table under a chandelier that looks like its made of crystal and stained glass.

"It built up; I had to make reservations this time."

"Oh." What else does a girl say to that?

"You really didn't have to do all this, James," her mother whispers to him, her hand curled gracefully in his.

"Can't a man treat his two girls?" he replies, giving her hand an affectionate squeeze.

Miranda looks away and tries not to blush, but it's easier thought than done when her father's giving her mother the twitterpated look.

"Good evening, I'm Eric and I'll be your server tonight."

Grateful for somewhere else to focus, Miranda looks up at the waiter with barely disguised relief.

No sooner has she glanced at his face than she feels sick to her stomach, and she doesn't know why. A flash of blonde hair appears in her mind, paralyzing her.

She blinks once, and it doesn't go away. Eric's mouth opens and traces words about the menu for tonight, but she hears something else entirely.

'There's a good girl.'

She's frozen, and she doesn't know why. Her mouth is dry and it feels like some ghostly hand is trying to choke her. Her heart's incessant thump-thumping drowns out everything else. Can she really not breathe, or is she just going crazy?

A menu appears in front of her, and it takes all the control she has not to jump a foot in the air. For a split second, it looks like the hand releasing the menu is clamped around her wrist, but then the image vanishes and she's clambering up from her seat and asking where the restroom is please.

If her parents are concerned, she doesn't notice; she's too focused on getting away and forcing herself to breathe because the restaurant is quite nice and it wouldn't do to faint in the middle of it. But she can't breathe and everything is spinning so fast...

She stumbles through the first door she sees, the sign barely registering. It did say "Ladies," didn't it? It doesn't matter; there are stalls, nice ones, with marble-patterned sides and doors that reach to the floor and far above her head. The toilet even has a lid, one she lowers with trembling fingers. Her chest is too tight, like she's being squeezed from the inside out and the outside in.

Her head falls into her hands, her elbows slip from her knees, and she sits there, folded in half, trying to breathe and succeeding only in raggedly gulping the occasional bit of oxygen. A rapid banging registers in her ears through the fog that's settled over her senses, a fog that turns everything grey and unimportant and sharpens every detail at the exact same moment. She only realizes that the banging is the toilet lid rattling against the seat when her body shakes all the harder. Did someone come in?

The very thought of a door opening is enough to send her into a near-frenzy again. It's all the worse because she still doesn't know what on earth is the matter with her or why she heard those strange words from a stranger's mouth.

She has to pull it together. Tonight is for her mother, so her parents can make up after one of their fights. She can't ruin that for them, turn it all on her.

Just the thought of their worry causes bile to rise in her throat. She has to force the retch down, but it burns the whole way.

The gentle bang of a door closing jolts her to awareness, momentarily.

"Honey? Are you alright?" comes her mother's worried voice. Her rapid exit from the table must have been frantic after all.

"I'm fine. Just got my period," she lies, because that's a lot easier than the truth, especially when she doesn't know exactly what the truth even is.

"Do you need a pad?"

"Nope, I'm good." She knows her voice is shaking, but she also knows her mother will chalk it up to the monstrous hormones that usually accompany her 'times of the month.'

"Alright, I just wanted to make sure. We ordered an appetizer, so come on out when you're feeling better."

"Will do," she calls. Is it her imagination making the thud of the closing door echo around the stall?

She needs to calm down, and fast; she knows that much. Without another thought, she whips out her phone and dials the number of her parents' therapist. To her surprise, the good doctor answers on the second ring.

"Dr. Ethel speaking."

"Hi, it's Miranda. My parents come to see you once a month?"

"Miranda O'Donahue?"

"Yeah. Listen, I've been feeling weird all day, like really jumpy, and I don't know what to do and I need to calm down, so do you know a line or someone I can call?" The words come out in a rush, like she's ashamed of them. She is, if she stops and thinks on it for just a second.

"Are you hurt in any way?"

"No, I'm okay, I think. I've just been scared by specific noises today, and I think I just hallucinated."

Dr. Ethel gives her a number that she explains only as a help line that will talk her through some calming exercises, tells Miranda to take care, and hangs up.

"How perfectly brusque," she comments to the radio silence. Still, she dials the number Dr. Ethel said and waits.

"Hello, S.A.F.E. Helpline."

"Hi," she answers uncertainly. "I was told to call you by a psychologist. Is that okay?"

"Of course, dear. What's the matter?" The voice on the other end is much warmer than Dr. Ethel's was, though to be fair it was dinnertime and Miranda really couldn't blame anyone for being annoyed at receiving a call at this hour.

"I'm panicking and I don't know why." The words come out before she's even processed them. Maybe it's because she's already processed that whoever this is can help, but it all spills out from there. The jumpiness, the terror at mundane things like a door closing or books shifting or a waiter with blonde hair.

"Alright, miss, I need you to calm down, okay?"

"What do you mean? I don't know how!" She tries not to yell, she really does, but it comes out much louder than she intended anyway.

"Take slow breaths, but not too deep. Breathe in…." Miranda does. "And hold…" Miranda does that too, even though she's not sure why breathing is the relaxation technique of choice. "And release."

The room's still spinning, but it's at least going a little slower now. The person on the other end has her do it again, and again, until she actually feel calm enough to hold a decent conversation.

"Do you know what's wrong with me?" Miranda briefly thinks that she sounds so tiny and breakable with that one question, but she's at a nice restaurant and it doesn't matter how she gets better, just that she does.

"What you described sounds like a flashback, dear. Now that sort of thing is usually associated with some sort of posttraumatic stress disorder. Do you have a history that would put you at risk for that?"

"I don't think so. I mean, I don't know. How can I figure that one out?"

"Look for a counselor in the area who specializes in PTSD or anxiety, and see if you can't schedule an appointment."

"You want me to see a shrink?" Miranda isn't against the idea, per say, it's just that her parents are the ones who are supposed to need the counseling, not her. She's always been healthy as a whistle. Or a horse. Not that she's overly concerned with getting cultural maxims exactly right at the moment.

"If something happened to you and you've forgotten it, a counselor could help bring it out into the open and, more importantly, help you in dealing with it."

"How could I forget something traumatic? Don't our brains work to remember that stuff, not forget it?"

"Repressed memories can occur under periods of intense stress, such as the terror a traumatic experience can cause."

"Oh. I thought that was all Freud's theory."

"Well, the important thing is helping yourself and making sure you are able to function healthily. I can give you the names and numbers of some therapists in your area, if you're comfortable with that."

Miranda nods before remembering that the nice lady can't actually see her. "That would be great, thank you."

The lady gets her the numbers of several offices, and Miranda says goodbye after thanking her profusely.

As soon as she hangs up the phone, the dizzy feeling returns. But she breathes like the lady taught her and reminds herself that a wonderful dinner is waiting. She finally exits the stall with a pounding head but almost-steady legs. She cleans her face of the evidence of her little breakdown and practically marches back to the table.

"There you are, kiddo! We were getting worried. Did ya fall in?"

Her father's familiar joking helps ground her, and she silently thanks him.

"Almost, but I got my balance at the last second. Sorry to disappoint."

"All plumbing leads to the ocean, isn't that what Gill said?"

"You really watch too much Finding Nemo, honey," her mother croons back, rubbing his arm in a way that makes Miranda avert her gaze and clear her throat.

"I love you guys, but sometimes you two are downright disgusting," she mumbles, making sure none of the other restaurant-goers can hear.

"What ever do you mean? It's only his arm," her mother replies, the picture of all innocence.

Miranda pretends to ignore this and instead takes one of the rolls from the bread basket.

"I see you already finished the appetizer." She smiles because she's more amused than annoyed.

"You were in there a while," her father chimes defensively.

"It doesn't matter; I prefer bread and butter much more."

Miranda flinches involuntarily as she takes her knife and cuts the roll in half. Her hand starts shaking, but she manages to steady it before her parents notice. Her head spins a little when she spreads the delicately whipped butter on the first half, so she breathes slow and long like the nice lady taught her. She can survive a simple dinner out.

Can't she?

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><p>Miranda does survive, with only a few minor instances of shaking hands and a trembling voice. But her mother notices, and Miranda has to fight a grimace as the three of them slip inside the house, pulling their coats tight around themselves as the chilly night air chases them into the living room.<p>

"You look pale, Miranda. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. You know how my time of the month is."

Her mother is concerned, more than usual. Miranda always gets some sympathy for her 'lady time,' as her mother calls it, simply because hers are always relatively miserable, even as those times go, but her mom seems to get that there's something more this time.

'At least she actually believes that's part of it, though,' Miranda thinks dryly. She's never used the period excuse before, and it feels foreign on her tongue.

"Well, just make sure you stay hydrated and take some ibuprofen."

"I will. Now I'm gonna stay down here and let you and Dad have some alone time where I can't hear."

To her credit, her mom blushes a little, but still with a devious little twinkle in her eye.

"Save that sparkle for Dad. I have a very important date with the new _Hobbit_ movie."

"Thranduil is a hottie."

"Ew Mom, he's mean and old!" Miranda laughs as her mother disappears up the stairs. She pretends that the flinch at the sound of the creaking step was just a muscle twitch.

She waits until she's sure her parents are both upstairs together before taking out her cell phone and copying down the numbers she saved in a note onto a piece of paper. She'll call every one in the morning, but for tonight she needs to research them, figure out which one might be a good fit.

"Damn good thing I have a steady income for this," she mumbles, slightly amused that she only just now appreciates her job answering the phone at the hotel down the street. She's not sure why she doesn't want her parents to know about this, but she doesn't. Maybe she's ashamed, or maybe it's her independent streak showing up at an inopportune time; whatever it is, she's alright with it. Maybe this is one her parents don't need to know about.

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><p>The infernal shrieking of her alarm clock startles her clean out of her cocoon of blankets and pillows. Miranda rubs her backside and shoulder where they hit the floor and tries not to think about how she's never fallen out of bed from her alarm clock before.<p>

She doesn't waste any time in dialing the number for the counselor she decided on last night. A woman in her thirties with a wealth of experience in trauma, stress, and anxiety, if the website bio was accurate.

The receptionist's voice is much peppier than she'd have thought anyone could be in the early hours of the morning. It makes scheduling a visit easier than she thought it would be. She'll be going after school; she can skip math club just this once. It's important, but she'll have to come up with a plausible excuse by lunchtime, when she'll be able to let the other club members know.

Oddly enough, this time she's alright with lying to them. It's just a little fib.

She refuses to think about how much she hates fibbing.

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><p>After school, she drives to the counseling office with a guilty sort of determination that churns her stomach and makes goose-bumps pop up on her arms.<p>

The drive is right through town, almost a straight shot. She'll be going through a rough patch, but she's driven through there before and been just fine.

When a gold car cuts her off, she's surprised to find that she doesn't swear at it for cutting her off, but because it's making her vision go fuzzy and her palms go sweaty.

"Dammit," she hisses. Unless she gets a grip, she'll have to pull over and then she'll be late for her appointment and then they'll be angry and she'll probably never be able to go back again and…and…and she's not sure what else, but it's sure to be awful, isn't it?

She breathes long and slow, but her heart still beats desperately against her ribs. Glancing back in her rearview mirror turns out to be a bad idea; it shows her a white car that's old and ratty with chipping paint, that's too close to her bumper for comfort. How close does another car have to be for it to be considered tailgating? She can't remember for the world; all she can think is that what if she's being followed, and what back roads she can wind through at fifty miles-per-hour to lose them.

"There is no one following you," she tells herself sternly. Maybe if she says it strongly enough, she'll force herself to believe it and she can get to her appointment in one piece.

She doesn't even notice that her foot is clamped on the accelerator until the car starts to swerve, and she can't seem to find the brake to slow it down.

A crash echoes in her ears before everything fades away to black.

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><p><strong>Banana - Thanks for all the detailed feedback, it was really great to get your thoughts! Sorry you weren't big on the 'and's, that's what sounded right as I was writing. Again, I really appreciate hearing your thoughts! <strong>

**Review!**


	3. Chapter 2

**I continue to be flattered by the positive feedback! You guys are amazing and you make my day. :) Thank you so much to rosegold1996, TheParanoidGraveRobber, and Banana for reviewing the previous chapter! And reviews I can't reply to via PM I'll reply to at the end of the chapter. And of course, thank you to anyone who's favorited or followed or just read this little story. **

**Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

She comes to with an ache that seems to be everywhere and soft grass tickling her bare arms. Wait…grass?

Miranda bolts upright, head spinning like a top; at least, that's what it feels like. Vomit pushes at the back of her throat, and she has to throw herself to the side. Her heaving only makes her feel worse as she expels every last kernel of lunch from her stomach.

"What the…?" The question dangles haphazardly in the air. The fresh, crisp, earthy air. Her car vent air freshener smells nothing like this; it's cinnamon, and she can't smell cinnamon or any spice of the sort.

And since when were their trees in her car? And grass so green it hurts her eyes to look at? And did her roof expand, because it had to if the grey clouds above her head are real. And the moon! There was no perfectly round, perfectly bright moon when she left school.

A rustle has her scrambling to her feet, hands balled into unsure fists. She tries to scan the area, but her eyes won't focus.

"Shh!"

"Who's there?" Her voice rings out the instant she hears the shushing, coming out with much more confidence than she feels.

More rustling, and a few whispers she can't make out. It occurs to her to be curious, that something hiding in bushes so short can't be bigger than a child. All the same, it could be a mischievous child, and she doesn't fancy playing tag or dodging a ball.

She stands still and waits, tries to calm herself enough to breathe normally. Her patience, to her surprise, is rewarded. And she's expecting almost anything - except what comes out of the thicket of bushes.

A badger?

"Hello there. Who might you be?"

Her head shakes itself several times before she realizes what she's doing. She really must be hallucinating now, because there is no grass in her car and badgers can't talk.

"Sorry? I don't speak badger?" she mumbles, for lack of anything else to say.

"Not the sharpest sword in the armory, is she?"

And since when are people around three feet tall with beards almost to the ground?

"I'm not much for swords, honestly." Words are just falling out of her mouth at this point, and she can't be held too terribly responsible for what she says as she tries to process this strange scene, tries to will it away.

"Wait wait wait. How long have you been here?"

Is the badger really talking? Or is she actually in the hospital and under the influence of some very interesting pain medication?

"I don't know, I just woke up. Literally."

Metal scraping metal suddenly sounds in her ears, and she can't help but cover her ears and double over. The skidding car tires and rancid smell of rubber burning fills her nose and makes her want to vomit.

'There's a good girl,' the foreign voice croons into her ear the same instant she falls to her knees.

An image flashes before her eyes, one she's sure she's never seen, but one that has her scrambling away.

"Where am I?" The question comes out ragged and hoarse, but all Miranda can focus on is making the images and screaming tires go away. None of it is real, that's what she has to keep telling herself.

"You're in Narnia," answers the badger, looking more concerned than she'd like.

Somehow, this grounds her. The world stops spinning quite so violently, and the voice telling her that she's a good girl fades away.

"Narnia?" she repeats. The name feels smooth and pure on her tongue. Safe, if she had to put it in one single word.

"Newcomer, eh? Well who are you then?" The short little man with the black beard seems marginally less hostile than before. Well, he's not eying her like he'll slit her throat at least.

"I'm…I'm Miranda." She grins, because for some reason introducing herself to these strangers is so very refreshing. "I'm not from here."

"That much is obvious," guffaws the man.

"I'm Trufflehunter," says the badger (the badger is actually talking?). "And this grumpy dwarf is Nikabrik."

"Dwarf?" Dwarves were fairy tales, weren't they?

"Yes, a dwarf," Nikabrik tells her with a roll of his dark eyes.

Well, the badger – Trufflehunter – has one thing right: Nikabrik _is_ a little grumpy.

"Sorry," she stutters. Really, she's at something of a loss. What does one say to a dwarf or a badger?

"Well no use in standing around shivering. Come on then." Trufflehunter waddles off and Nikabrik follows, grumbling and arguing under his breath.

The two exchange a few words Miranda can't make out, and she suddenly doesn't want to go with them at all. They are strangers, after all, even if they seem nice and they're mythical creatures.

It takes them a few moments to notice that she hasn't followed. Trufflehunter tries beckoning to her again, Nikabrik crosses his arms over his chest, and she stays right where she is.

"I'm good, thanks. I can manage on my own."

"Good luck with that," Nikabrik says with sarcasm that hangs heavy in the air.

"We're perfectly harmless, I assure you. And you really should not stay out here."

"Why's that?" she asks evenly.

"The soldiers, for one-"

"One of which we've already adopted, apparently," Nikabrik cuts in.

Trufflehunter shoots the dwarf a scathing look if ever Miranda saw one. Unfortunately, her amusement isn't enough to calm the fear that shoots through her at the mention of a solider. A soldier, where they want her to stay? She's even less inclined to go with them than before. A soldier likely means a strange man, a man she doesn't know who can easily subdue her.

"Please forgive Nikabrik, he's…well…"

Miranda smiles a little and fills in, despite her anxiety. "Grumpy?"

"Yes, grumpy, that's how I put it!"

"Now that we've opened a boarding house, how do you expect me to be?"

"Taking in two people in need hardly qualifies our abode as a boarding house," sniffs the badger.

"I'd rather just try to strike out on my own," Miranda finally says, breaking the little argument between the two.

"My dear, if you want to survive the night, I'd recommend against that. Telmarine soldiers won't take kindly to a solitary woman on her own in the woods. They're quite the unpleasant sort."

"You can say that again," Nikabrik seconds.

"But being in the same abode as one is just fine." She tries not to cross her arms, because that was hostile enough and she probably should not get on Trufflehunter and Nikabrik's bad sides. After all, she's on her own someplace strange (though, admittedly, it's more likely that this whole thing is a figment of pain medications or anesthesia) and she needs to stay on people's good sides as much as she can.

"He's currently unconscious, courtesy of Nikabrik here," Trufflehunter explains.

After a moment, she trudges after them reluctantly. She probably is better off in an 'abode,' as Trufflehunter calls it, than on her own in a forest. She's never even watched Survivor.

She makes a note to stay off the dwarf's really bad side.

She hums her half-interest, half-caution, and follows them until they stop facing a tree. What's so special about one tree out of the hundreds in here?

"That's cool," she mumbles to herself when Trufflehunter pushes on the bark and a hidden door swings open.

She has to bend over, almost to her hands and knees, to get in the door, but it's worth it; the tree home is cozy, with a ceiling decorated in swirls of wood that's high enough for her to stand tall.

"This is where you live?" she asks the friendlier badger.

"It's not much, but it's home," he answers with a smile.

"It's wonderful," she replies. It is; warm, and homey and rustic, with a faint smell of meat stew of some sort hanging in the air.

"The boy has the bed in there," here Trufflehunter points to a room up the stairs, past the fireplace. "But there's another room over here." He starts to gesture at another open door on the other side of the little home, but Miranda sees Nikabrik's indignation and his mouth opening to form a complaint, so she shakes her head.

"Actually, can I sleep by the fire?" Trufflehunter starts to protest, but she hushes him. "I like it better by a fire. It's cozy." In truth? It's also much easier to get away if she feels like it. Less ways for her to be trapped.

"Nikabrik, help the girl find some blankets to make her comfortable. I'm going to get some soup for our poor guest you had the decency to knock out."

The dwarf makes a point of ignoring the badger and Miranda both, opting instead for tearing a piece of bread off the loaf sitting on the table.

"This bread is so stale," he grunts.

She can't blame him there; the tear sounded dry and unappetizing, to say the least.

"Then we'll be having soup," responds the badger from what Miranda guesses to be the kitchen. "And the boy should be coming around soon."

"Yeah? Well I don't think I hit him hard enough."

"Not his biggest fan, are you?" Miranda can't help but mumble.

"No, I'm not," Nikabrik replies with a sneer.

"Nikabrik, he's just a boy."

"He's a Telmarine, not some lost puppy! You said you were gonna get rid of him!"

Miranda shrinks away from him without even realizing she's doing it.

"No, I said I'd take care of him."

Another voice rings in her head, the same sickening croon from before.

'I'll take care of you,' it whispers. Cold fear pierces her veins and all she can hear is that voice and the sound of her breathing. Was it always so ragged?

Vaguely, the noise of the badger and the dwarf quarrelling yet again registers, but it sounds like she's listening to it through molasses. It's barely even background noise.

A cold and clammy hand brushes the side of her cheek. She first thinks to smack it away, but she's paralyzed and she isn't sure why. Is any of this real? The lady on the phone said something about trauma and stress, didn't she? Was that what this was?

She can't think, all she knows is that she has to get out of here right now because _he's_ here and she doesn't know who he is or how or why she just has to_ go_. Just as she pushes herself up onto shaky feet, the clang of metal on metal rings through her ears and jolts her back to reality.

And reality currently means Nikabrik swinging a blade at a strange boy who's holding a fire poker like a sword and Trufflehunter frantically trying to talk them down.

"I told you we should have killed him when we had the chance," growls the hostile dwarf, pointing his sword very deliberately at the boy's chest.

"You know why we can't!" yells the badger, pointing an accusing finger at his testy companion.

"If we're taking a vote," says the boy, "I'm with him."

Miranda cracks a small grin. She has to admire the dry wit under pressure. Then his eyes dart over to her and she swallows the amusement. This is a soldier, and soldier means violence, doesn't it? That's how Trufflehunter and Nikabrik made it sound.

That's when she realizes. She could slip away, right now, and they'd probably never notice.

She takes stock of the situation, which now involves Nikabrik lunging angrily at the boy again. Here's her chance. She carefully slides her chair back, making sure her head remains at the same height, and has just started to scoot toward the door when Trufflehunter's voice cuts through the tense air.

"Enough Nikabrik! Or do I have to sit on your head again?"

Miranda inches again, and some more, and then a little more while Trufflehunter turns to chastising the boy for (apparently) making him spill the soup.

She's halfway there, already.

"And you!"

She almost jumps out of her skin at the badger's yell.

"Don't you sneak away before dinner!"

She looks back at him like a child caught putting her hand in the cookie jar and skulks back to her seat with as bright a smile as she can manage.

"You're helpless out there, and I will not be responsible for the death of a Daughter of Eve."

Apparently satisfied with his reprimands to each and every one of them, he returns to the kitchen and retrieves two bowls of soup, and then two more.

"There you go," he says as he sets a bowl down in front of Miranda. "Still hot," he adds as he puts the other in front of the boy

Miranda thanks him with a nod and an unsure smile as Nikabrik opens his disagreeable mouth once more.

"Since when did we open a boarding house for Telmarine soldiers?"

"I am not a solider!" cries the boy, standing up and puffing his chest out enough that Miranda almost comments on it. She would, if he wasn't so tall, especially compared to her sitting figure, even though he's across the room.

"I am Prince Caspian, the Tenth."

He's royalty? Miranda's sure of two things: she really needs the history and such of this place if she's stuck here on pain meds, and she's really glad she didn't say the smart remark that was dancing on the tip of her tongue.

"What are you doing here?" Nikabrik seems considerably less hostile, a miracle in and of itself.

"Running away," replies the boy, his proud gaze turning sad and heavy. He looks at the floor as he moves to replace the fire poker. Miranda softens. She knows the feeling of running away. She's not sure how, exactly, but it strikes a chord with her.

"My uncle has always wanted my throne," Prince Caspian continues, staring into the fire as his accent deepens and his voice carries even more sadness. "I suppose…"

Miranda studies his back, his posture, out of curiosity and a strange feeling of kinship.

"…I-I have only lived this long because he did not have an heir of his own."

An uncomfortable, almost penitent silence stretches over the room. Miranda uses it to withdraw. She doesn't even know this Prince Caspian; no need to get overly involved before he even knows her name.

"Well. That changes things," says Trufflehunter, quiet and respectful and sorrowful for the prince.

"Yeah. 'Least we don't have to kill you ourselves," finishes the dwarf, settling back in his chair and looking smug as all hell.

But the prince seems to take this to heart. He turns back around, his face a mask of determination, and tells the dwarf that he's right. Miranda knows better than to believe that he really wants to die. She understands the pain in his eyes that he tries so hard to hide.

"Where are you going?" cries the badger as Prince Caspian reaches over for his things and prepares to leave.

"My uncle won't stop until I'm dead."

"Which is why you're not going anywhere."

Three surprised faces turn to regard her. She's not even entirely sure why she said it, just that it needed to be said because letting someone go on a suicide mission, even in a dream, even if it's a boy she just met, is wrong.

"The young lady is right. You can't leave."

Miranda is immensely grateful to Trufflehunter for taking the attention off of her and her idealistic mouth. But the badger has a different reason, another argument to back him up.

He takes the white horn from the table that Miranda didn't even notice before now and holds it out to the prince.

"Don't you know what this is?"

The badger's paws hold the intricately carved horn like it's something sacred. A religious object, then? Miranda isn't sure.

Prince Caspian just stares, maybe because he's a prince and unused to not knowing things. Or because he's just willing to hear the badger out; maybe he was secretly, silently hoping someone would try to stop him.

Trufflehunter sighs and gestures to the bowl of soup still steaming on the edge of the table closest to the prince.

"Sit. I'll tell you over dinner."

For a moment, it looks like he'll refuse and continue fastening his armor. Miranda's eyes don't leave him, though she knows it won't do any good to stare him down. But maybe she's wrong, because he glances over at her and pauses. Maybe he respects her earlier statement, or maybe she looks stern enough that she backs up Trufflehunter, or maybe she's a nicer face to look at than Nikabrik, or maybe he sees a slightly kindred spirit in her. Whatever the reason, he nods once, replaces his things where they were, and sits down at the table in front of the soup. Miranda hides her smile when his knees bump the table just a little.

"Let's begin with introductions," Trufflehunter says as soon as Prince Caspian is seated. "I'm Trufflehunter."

Prince Caspian dips his head in what Miranda can only guess is a respectful, acknowledging sort of gesture. The badger turns to Nikabrik, who sulks none too subtly and firmly keeps his mouth closed.

"And this is Nikabrik," Trufflehunter supplies at the awkward silence. Another dip of the head.

And then Trufflehunter and the prince look at her. She tries not to squirm under the kind gazes that feel like scrutiny.

"Miranda," she says with a dry throat. "I'm…new around here."

A final dip of the prince's head, though his eyes meet hers for a brief second before he straightens.

"Prince Caspian," he says to finish the round. "But you knew that."

Trufflehunter chuckles just a little, and then they all proceed with the most awkward dinner Miranda's ever attended in her life. Nikabrik does nothing but sulk the entire time, with only a few snide remarks to offer from time to time, Trufflehunter explains the horn (Queen Susan's horn, apparently) and how it can summon the "Kings and Queens of Old, " Prince Caspian listens attentively and asks questions in all the right places. And Miranda? She sits there as quietly as she can, sips the soup, and wonders at her vivid imagination. A thought or two about when she'll wake up occurs to her too, because this seems like an awful long dream, even for painkillers.

When everyone's finished, Trufflehunter collects the bowls and gently refuses Miranda's offer to help him clean up. "You're a guest," is all the explanation he offers as he takes her bowl with the rest and goes to the kitchen, leaving her with a grumpy dwarf to her left and a slightly uncomfortable-looking prince to her right.

"You're new here?"

She's startled when the prince addresses her, and it takes her a minute to gather up an answer.

"Yes, I'm from…Earth?" she offers. "The United States of America?"

She's not surprised in the least when the names spark nothing but confusion.

"Not from around here," she finishes with a lame flap of her hand.

"You could say that again," Nikabrik cuts in, that everlasting sneer still on his face pulling his lips away from his teeth.

Okay, she gets the need to be nice to him because she's just a guest, but for heaven's sake, she's had it.

"Christ, who shoved a stick up your ass?" she mutters, half-hoping he won't hear and half-hoping he will.

The dwarf splutters and then glowers, and the prince? A glance over at him shows her that he's trying with all his might not to grin, and he's failing the battle. A tiny snort echoes from behind his lips, and it's so contagious Miranda has to swallow a smile of her own.

Meanwhile, Nikabrik has found his tongue and is enthusiastically berating her. Her only response is to sink back into her chair and cross her arms in an almost perfect imitation of his earlier poses.

"What's all that racket?"

At Trufflehunter's warning question, Nikabrik quiets his voice, but seems a little too put-out to actually stop.

"Everything's alright, I just stirred up Grumpy here," Miranda calls, taking immense pleasure (too much, she's sure) at Nikabrik's icy glare that promises some sort of retribution.

"You know, Miranda, I think that nickname might suit him better than anything I've tried to come up with."

"We might as well use it, then. It really does have the most interesting effect."

"Fine by me, dear girl," Trufflehunter returns with a clear smile in his voice.

"Looks like you just earned yourself a new nickname," Miranda tells Nikabrik with all the stomach-churning sweetness she can muster.

"To the devil Tash with you lot. I'm going to bed," the dwarf says, slamming his hands on the table as he stands and goes to his room. The slam of the door makes Miranda grin in earnest. It's just a dream, this, so why not have a little fun?

But now she's alone with the prince at the table, with nothing under the sun to talk about. She's fairly sure he has no interest in discussing how he came to be here, and she's sure she has no interest in explaining how she got here.

The awkward silence grows, as apparently neither of them knows what to say.

"How did you arrive here?"

His question breaks the silence, and Miranda tries not to grit her teeth in annoyance. The question she didn't want to be asked, and here it is.

"A mix of a car crash and painkillers would be my best guess. You?" If he asked her, she can ask him, right?

"A horse and a fallen tree at eye level."

The answer she expected to be serious turns out to be…well, she's not sure, but she likes it more than the alternative.

"And where is the horse?"

"Far away from here; I ran into the tree, and Destrier kept going." There's a hint of a smile in his voice, even if his face doesn't really reflect it too well. It puts her a little more at ease.

"Destrier? That's an interesting name for a horse."

"I named him when I was just a boy."

"You're still kind of a boy." Those words, she'd like to take back. Even if it's just a dream, insulting a prince wasn't something she wanted to do.

"And you're kind of a girl," he returns.

"Are you mocking me?" she asks indignantly, even though she's amused and a little more at ease.

"Were you mocking me?"

Are his eyes twinkling, or is it her imagination?

"I was just stating a fact. You can't be older than seventeen."

"You look to be the same age."

"I am."

"Then how am I a boy?"

He's clearly playing with her now, and she's surprisingly happy to go along.

"Because you're not a full adult."

"And neither are you."

"Never said I was."

"Perhaps."

They end up staring each other down with telltale smiles. But when she realizes how close their heads are, she pulls back. She almost forgot that she doesn't like being too physically close to people, especially people she's just met.

"You two really ought to get to bed," Trufflehunter says as he waddles back in from the kitchen, paws still wet from the dishwater.

Miranda immediately moves to the blankets sitting in a pile on the floor where Nikabrik dumped them, but the prince looks a bit lost.

"Don't just sit there, to bed with you!" Trufflehunter points Prince Caspian in the direction of the room he woke up in, the room that she's assuming to be his.

The prince looks like he'll argue, but he eventually goes where Trufflehunter is pointing without an argument. When Trufflehunter is serious, he gets his way.

"We'll be getting up rather early, I'm afraid. Prince Caspian is bent on finding the other Narnians."

That's right, she remembers some conversation about that at dinner.

She tells him that it's fine and wonders silently why she's going with them to the Narnians when there's no real reason for her to.

"Good night then." Trufflehunter leaves her then, assembling another pile of blankets across the room.

So much for her brilliant idea of sneaking out in the middle of the night. She tries not to feel disappointed, and to her surprise, she doesn't have to try that hard. They're not bad, even Nikabrik. She'll just think of him as Grumpy from _Snow White and the Seven Dwarves_ and she'll get along with him well enough. And who knows, maybe there will be six more dwarves with the other Narnians the prince is so bent on finding.

She arranges her pile of blankets to her liking, with high sides working as a sort of cocoon that makes her feel a little safer in this strange place. And with that, Miranda curls up and tries to get some sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Banana - That makes me so proud of myself, seriously. Excuse me, I gotta go dance around happily...okay dance done. Good point on the scantrons, I went back in and fixed that. Regarding the school scene, I went back and forth on that because there wasn't a lot going on, but in the end I thought it necessary to show that snapshot of Miranda's life. Thanks for leaving your thoughts! <strong>

**Review!**


	4. Chapter 3

**On to the next chapter! This was, oddly, one of the more difficult ones to edit. It just didn't seem to come out quite right, so hopefully it's better now! **

**Thank you to sarahwood for reviewing!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

She's not that surprised when she can't nod off for the life of her. Trufflehunter's soft snores echo from across the room, so she sits up and stretches. She can't sneak out because the door is creaky and there was a moon up so the light would spill in and probably wake that badger, but she can get up and move around, can't she?

She opts to explore the little house. She won't be here after tomorrow, but for tonight it'll ease her mind to know her surroundings, maybe enough that she'll be able to get some rest.

It's dark, but her vision adjusted almost as soon as she couldn't sleep and just stared at the ceiling. She purposely avoids the creaky floorboard in the doorway as she slips into the kitchen. Pots, pans, wooden bowls, a bin with vegetables. Nothing that surprises her about a kitchen. The familiarity relaxes her.

She runs her hands over the smooth countertop, also made of wood. It must be old or sanded down a thousand times, to be this smooth. She's fairly sure they don't have things like wood finishing in Narnia.

She braces both hands on the counter and uses the odd position to stretch her back. A bad idea.

A gust of hot, smelly breath hits the back of her neck as a ghostly hand grips her hip.

She spins away from the feeling as a picture of a man with blonde curls and a cruel smile flashes in her mind's eye. Spinning around shows her that no, he's not in here with her, but she can't stop spinning because she's sure he is. Who is he? She doesn't know, and she doesn't want to know, and she has to know.

"Flashbacks?" she whispers to herself. That's what the nice lady on the phone called them, wasn't it?

Something happened, but she isn't sure what, and she hopes she never remembers and that she could stop remembering because it must not have been good and if she forgets, she can be normal, right?

She sinks to the floor and puts her head in between her knees. She just wants to go home. Yes, that's it. She wants to go home, and she's confused because this dream is going on forever. A small whisper of a sound interrupts her thoughts. Springing up, she pads on silent feet to the doorway of the kitchen.

Prince Caspian, putting his armor on as quietly as he can. She's not surprised. She's also spectacularly annoyed. Does he have a death wish?

More importantly, why does she care?

In spite of herself, she tiptoes out of the kitchen and perches on the table, silent as a cat, making sure his back is to her the whole time.

He finishes with the chest thing that looks like a vest and starts to buckle on his sword. She waits patiently. Sword buckled, he turns to grab the cloak. He's sideways to her now, and still hasn't noticed her silently critical form scrutinizing him from the table.

He throws the cloak around his shoulders, turns just enough. She fights a triumphant guffaw as he starts and stumbles backward off the two steps just behind him. The clatter of his sword as it hits the ground at the same time as his backside should wake Trufflehunter.

It may be dark, but she can see his glare at plain as day as Trufflehunter snorts, mumbles, and moves in his sleep. And now she really is annoyed. How did the commotion not wake the perceptive badger? Strictly speaking, she could wake him herself, but having this prince do it on accident would have been so much more amusing.

Prince Caspian gets to his feet and brushes the dust from his rear, alternating between staring at his shoes and glaring at her.

"You missed a spot," she says as he stills.

"And you should not be up at this hour."

"Yes Daddy." She smirks a little at the annoyance on his face. "And on the same note, neither should you."

"I can't stay here-"

"But you can at least wait until morning and give Trufflehunter the courtesy of a goodbye and a thank you for his hospitality. Oh, and maybe a thank you for saving your life somewhere in there too."

She knows she's won before he even says anything; she can see the spark of guilt hiding in his eye. Her arms cross as she basks in her victory. A prince, listening to her? It's a nice pat to her ego.

"I…"

"-can wait," she finishes for him, trying her very best to keep the smugness from her voice. She doesn't need to rub it in, after all.

She glances over at Trufflehunter, now tossing and turning in his sleep.

"And if I were you, I'd put all that stuff back before Trufflehunter wakes up and roasts you worse than I will."

"I can't stay here and do nothing," he tries to protest.

A part of her understands. The rest is still annoyed that he (unwittingly, but still) interrupted her thoughts, troubled as they were.

"I think you can understand," he continues to appeal in whispers she can barely hear.

"I can, and I do. But I still can't let you leave. It's bad manners."

"And you're so concerned with manners?"

She frowns to show her annoyance. "You don't get to question me, royal blood or not."

To his credit, Prince Caspian looks penitent. But he's still determined. Studying her, trying to find a weakness, something he can exploit to get her to let him go. She can feel it in the way he looks at her. And she knows she's right with how he steps toward her: purposeful. Not the walk of a surrendering boy.

It sparks another memory. And it's at the worst possible time.

She grits her teeth against the panic setting in as her mind makes her see the prince's hair changing from black to blonde, from long and slightly wavy to long and quite curly. His eyes, from dark brown orbs that are innocent enough to ones of piercing blue that promises all the ways he can hurt her. Her heart threatens to burst from her chest as she fights the instinct to lash out and run away.

'He's just a lost prince,' she reminds herself, so she won't take her nails and rake them down his face that's constantly inching closer to hers, or so it seems.

'That doesn't make him safe,' her mind whispers back.

She's shaking before she even realizes she feels cold.

Her gaze drops to the table, because she's afraid he'll read the turmoil in her eyes, see what she sees and take advantage of her weakness in the moment.

"Are you alright?"

For a second, the question brings her back to the present. She risks a glance up to see that he's stopped his advance and is now regarding her cautiously.

"I'm fine," she rasps out. She's not sure whether she hates him for noticing something was wrong or hates herself for thinking he was someone else.

He squints a little as he continues to stare at her. It reminds her of another time someone squinted at her, when the blonde-haired demon looked like a snake before he pounced.

A warm hand touches her shoulder, soft as a feather, but she doesn't realize it's his hand before she's clawed at it and scrambled away.

The wood of the table is rough under her hands. Is that a splinter in her palm? She fiercely reminds herself that it doesn't matter. She doesn't know if it's Prince Caspian there across the room or the person she's been seeing for the past few days.

Her body is coiled, fiercely wound and ready to fight or flee or both, as she looks up at him and tries to apologize. The words won't come, and she's stuck staring at him and trying not to bolt out the door.

"You're not alright, Miranda."

No, she's not. But she can still hate him for saying it out loud, can't she?

"Go to bed," is her reply. It comes out fragile, hanging in the air like glass waiting to be broken.

"I can't stay here," he repeats from before. He stays where he is, but his body leans forward a little, asking her to please understand and keep quiet and let him leave without waking Trufflehunter.

"Wake Trufflehunter and ask him."

She scoots off the table then, to the side away from him. The distance comforts her, even though a flash of pain and screaming unsettles her as her feet land on the floor.

"I can't stop you if you want to leave." With that, she returns to her pile of blankets and burrows deep. It feels like if she burrows under enough layers, it'll erase everything her mind is trying to show her.

She listens for the footsteps that will go by her and cross to the door. She waits and waits until she actually gets sleepy. As she finally nods off, she hears the steps she was waiting for. But they move away from her, back toward stairs.

* * *

><p>A low beeping registers in her ears as she slowly opens her eyes. She starts to move her hand to rub her eyes, but a painful tug sharpens her awareness. Glancing down, she sees a needle there, hooked up to several IV drips.<p>

"Hi honey."

Miranda blinks the rest of the sleep from her eyes as the face of her mother comes into focus.

"Mom?"

Her mother smoothes her hair from her forehead and smiles a watery smile with red eyes that suggest she's been crying recently.

"You're okay, Shells. They just had to put you on some pain medication."

"What happened?"

"You were in a car accident. What were you doing on that side of town after school?"

"I had an errand I wanted to run," Miranda says. She knows she'll be in trouble, but she isn't ready to tell them the exact errand it was.

"What kind of errand, honey?" The disapproval is evident in her mother's voice.

She lies, because she doesn't think she can tell the truth this time.

"Dad's birthday is soon, isn't it? I just saw something online and thought I could just pick it up in store and save on shipping."

Her mother sighs as she pats Miranda's arm.

"Next time we can go together, alright?"

Miranda agrees happily, though it does occur to her that getting to the therapist's will be a bit more difficult for a while.

"I'm sorry, Mom," she says to pacify her.

"You just worry about getting better."

Miranda takes stock of herself. Her middle hurts a lot, and so does her leg. A glance shows her that her entire torso, from under her shoulders to her hips, is wrapped in gauze, and her leg is up in a fancy cast. Her right wrist is in a splint too, but she's guessing that the pain meds are pretty powerful so she won't be feeling that injury for a while yet.

"I'm a mess," she observes uselessly, feeling a little silly for the whole thing. She wets her chapped lips and asks where her dad is.

"He's back at the house getting some sleep. He was here all last night."

"How long have I been out?"

"A day or so. We've been taking turns watching over you."

"But you both have jobs and-"

"We have leave," her mother answers firmly.

Miranda leans into her hand as it continues smoothing her hair, playing with the unruly strands.

"Oh, and mom? Can you ask the doctor about dream patterns for whatever meds I'm on?"

"She said you can expect some vivid dreams while the medications last, but they want to switch you to a different one in a few days, once the surgery cuts heal up."

"Surgery, huh?" Miranda can't help but grin. She'd always boasted about how she'd never broken a bone or had any surgery.

"Sorry Shells," laughs her mother, ruffling her hair and consequently putting more tangles in it that she proceeds to work out with patient fingers.

Miranda relaxes into the bed and doesn't fight the drowsiness as it washes over her, even though she just woke up and it's so good to see her mom. She'll still be there when she wakes up.

* * *

><p>A gentle paw tugging the blankets back wakes her. She bolts upright, breathing heavily from the surprise, before she recognizes Trufflehunter and relaxes. Well, until she realizes that she's back in dreamland Narnia.<p>

"We should be going soon," he says.

Miranda nods and stretches the kinks from her back left from sleeping curled into as little a ball as she could manage. It feels real, right now. But what use is there in wondering, really? After a few days, she'll be off the meds and Narnia will be little more than a memory. That surely doesn't bother her, does it? She quickly decides to think on that later as a certain dwarf shuffles out of the room over.

"Where's that Telmarine prince?" grumbles a bleary-eyed Nikabrik.

"Still sleeping, I assume. He had quite the night."

'Oh he did,' Miranda thinks. Much more than he bargained for, she's sure.

Trufflehunter bustles and gets breakfast on the table, a simple affair of fruit that is just a little past ripe and bread that's stale but stomachable.

"Miranda, would you get the prince up while I finish?" Trufflehunter asks.

She gets the evil idea to ask for pot lids, but the ones she saw aren't metal and hence won't make enough noise to scare him like she wants to, so she pads obediently into the room.

Her annoyance when she's greeted with a perfectly made bed knows no bounds.

'Ungrateful son of a…' she lets her thoughts trail off because his mother probably isn't so bad.

She walks back out to the eating area with a scowl on her face.

"He flew the coop."

The badger tips his head in confusion, so she rephrases with an impatient wave of her hand.

"He left already."

"Perfect, he's no longer our problem!" Nikabrik's grin looks like it could split his face in two, and it makes Miranda want to throw a piece of the fruit at him. The prince is still a human being, a seemingly decent one at that.

"Unfortunately for you, Nikabrik, this means breakfast will be on the road. Get your things together, everyone."

"How far is it to the Narnians?" Miranda asks over the quiet din of the badger clearing dishes and tossing a piece of fruit and bread to each of them.

"Less than a full day's walk, quite close."

"Here, let me help."

The badger has her put away the unnecessary food while he puts the dishes away.

"Come now, Nikabrik! He has a head start!"

The dwarf grumbles some sarcastic reply, but does as his friend says.

The three of them are out the door inside five minutes.

"He can't have gone far," Trufflehunter reasons as he hurries them along.

They rush along until they can hear twigs crunching ahead.

Trufflehunter puts a paw to his lips, telling them to be quiet. They tiptoe carefully, staying hidden in bushes and behind trees. Miranda almost tells him that they're all doing a terrible job of being quiet in this underbrush and the whole idea is silly, but she holds her tongue out of respect and nothing more.

The prince's dark cloak comes into view as he walks along, casual as he pleases.

Trufflehunter and Nikabrik inch closer, hiding behind tree trunks rather close to him. Prince Caspian stops, and this is when the two choose to move closer.

A grin tugs at Miranda's mouth as Prince Caspian turns around with a dry "I can hear you."

She, for one, walks up to the tree closest to him and leans against it nonchalantly. Trufflehunter and Nikabrik, on the other hand, peek out from their hiding places guiltily before stepping out.

"I just think we should wait for the King and Queens," Trufflehunter says.

Prince Caspian stares at the three of them for a moment before turning back around and continuing as if nothing happened.

"Fine, go then! See if the others will be as understanding!" shouts the agitated badger. Miranda doesn't blame him; if she saved someone's life and they left without so much as a goodbye or thank you, she'd be a little testy too. She refrains from chiming in her support of the badger's idea as Nikabrik walks toward the stubborn prince.

"Well maybe I'll go with you," he says. "I'd like to see you explain things to the minotaurs."

"Minotaurs?" the prince says exactly as Miranda thinks the word. "They're real?"

"And _very_ bed-tempered," chimes in Trufflehunter, who has apparently regained his cool.

"Not to mention big," continues Nikabrik.

"_Huge_," amends Trufflehunter.

Miranda bites her lip on a chuckle. Their attempts at intimidating Prince Caspian don't seem to be working; he looks more curious than scared.

"What about centaurs? Do they still exist?" asks the prince as he falls into step behind Trufflehunter and Nikabrik.

Miranda trails along behind the three of them, wondering if she could slip away somehow to explore this world her mind has dreamed up. It is quite a vivid dream, after all.

"Well the centaurs will probably fight on your side. But there's no telling what the others will do," answers Trufflehunter with a wag of his finger.

"What about Aslan?"

Trufflehunter and Nikabrik stop in their tracks at that. Miranda refrains from asking who Aslan is, though curiosity tugs at her.

"How do you know so much about us?" Nikabrik asks none too kindly.

"Stories." Prince Caspian shrugs as if it's not a big deal, but anyone can see that to the two Narnians in front of him, it is.

"Wait a minute, your father told you stories about Narnia?" Trufflehunter sounds perplexed, and Miranda is reminded once again how badly she needs a history lesson of Narnia.

"No, my professor."

Miranda looks at the prince as his voice shakes, taking on the same heaviness it had when he told them about his uncle last night. She's trying to think of something to say to diffuse the tension when the prince hardens and walks past the two creatures staring at him.

"Listen I am sorry. These are not the kinds of questions you should be asking," he says as he all but stomps past.

Miranda makes a mental note of this sore spot as a subject to avoid at all costs.

Trufflehunter has an entirely different reaction; he starts sniffing the air rather loudly.

"What is it?" asks Nikabrik, looking the most sincere Miranda's seen him yet. Is that worry lining his brow?

"Does His Highness need a bath so badly?" she mutters without thinking.

"Probably." Her and the dwarf share the first amused smile of the morning.

"Human," Trufflehunter says.

"Him?" Nikabrik gestures to Prince Caspian with a smirk.

"No, _them_."

Just then, shouting sounds from the direction they came from. The four of them look back to see a horde of soldiers advancing, crossbows at the ready.

"There they are!" one of them shouts, spurring the entire group to run at them.

"Run!"

They follow Prince Caspian's command without a second thought.

'There you are.'

No, not now, not now. Miranda shakes her head as she runs, trying to ignore the voice in her ear, the whisper of stale breath against the shell of it.

She has to run.

The thought surges through her and has her bolting faster than she ever thought possible. She can hear him behind her, even as the thuds of arrows burying themselves into tree trunks by her head make her want to swerve away. But if she swerves, she'll give up speed, and she has to get away.

The feeling is all too familiar. She remembers this, running so fast her head swims and her lungs scream for air and her heart drowns out everything else.

A cry of pain jolts her from her frenzy, and she skids to a stop, whirling around to see Trufflehunter down with an arrow buried in his leg.

She's turned on a dime and sprinting toward him before Prince Caspian even finishes whatever he's saying.

"Go, I'll take him!" he shouts to her as he comes up beside her.

"Like hell!" She keeps up with him the few strides it takes to get to the wounded badger, who presses Queen Susan's horn into his hands and tells him to take it and go.

"You take the damn horn, I'll take the badger!" Miranda hollers as Trufflehunter presses the white thing into the prince's hands. No sooner is it transferred than Miranda scoops up the badger as carefully as she can, and even then he can't help a yelp of pain.

"I had it!" Prince Caspian yells as he comes up next to her.

"You'd have taken too long!"

Whatever retort he had in store is cut off by the unmanly screech of a soldier behind them.

Miranda tries to glance over her shoulder, but Trufflehunter is in the way and if she jostles him anymore he'll be in even more pain.

"Get them out of here," Prince Caspian says with a shove.

She passes Trufflehunter to Nikabrik so she can question his judgment call face on.

"You're picking now to play hero?"

"I trained with them; I can hold them off. Go!" He points back to Nikabrik, who's struggling with Trufflehunter a little.

She has to help them, but something in her isn't sitting right at the thought of letting him stand here like a sitting duck. Even if it's a dream and he'll probably be back and good as new the next time she's asleep, she doesn't like it. But what choice does she have? What help could she really be?

"Catch up when you can," she finally says. He might appreciate her obedience, but she's over with Nikabrik helping Trufflehunter before she can tell either way.

"Come on." She picks up Trufflehunter again and tells Nikabrik to keep up, and then they're running and leaving the prince with the hero complex behind.

They only get a few yards before Nikabrik tugs on her pants and tells her they're safe now.

"Are you mental?" she starts to ask, but when she looks up again, she sees the centaurs. Standing tall, majestic, there down the hill. "Oh," is the only thing she can muster at the sight.

She's wondering if she should introduce herself when a small war cry sounds behind her. Too small for one of those burly soldiers, she's sure. But she isn't prepared for the all too amusing sight of a certain Prince Caspian sprawled on his back with a mouse pointing a needle-like sword at his face. And oh, the look on his face! Surprise and fear and disbelief all rolled into one.

And is the mouse yelling at him?

Yes, the mouse is yelling at the prince, and said prince is waving his hands like he's trying to pacify the creature firmly planted on his chest.

"Which is why I might live longer if I choose not to cross blades with you, noble mouse," Prince Caspian replies to something the mouse said.

Miranda smiles into her free hand and tries her hardest not to giggle. If she can find a stuffed mouse here in Narnia, she'll have to remember to prank him with it somehow.

"I said I would not fight you." The mouse whips his blade back closer to the prince's face, who visibly stiffens at the motion. "I didn't say I'd let you live!"

A snort builds, and Miranda has to forcibly swallow it down. She can cackle in amusement later.

"Reepicheep! Stay your blade!" Trufflehunter suddenly yells, startling Miranda and annoying the mouse apparently called Reepicheep.

"Trufflehunter! I trust you have a very good reason for this untimely interruption!"

'He's really quite cute, all indignant and formal like that,' Miranda thinks to herself. She only just manages from saying it out loud by the simple fact that the mouse has a sword that looks like a needle, and she's never been overly fond of needles.

"He doesn't, go 'head."

Miranda has to purse her lips and hide her face behind the badger in her arms to keep her silent laughter hidden. 'Not the place,' she silently chides herself.

"He's the one who blew the horn!" Trufflehunter finishes, gesturing grandly with his paw, so much so that it throws off her balance and she has to shift him in her arms to keep him from tumbling toward the ferns underfoot.

"What?" asks the mouse apparently called Reepicheep as he lowers his blade from Prince Caspian's stunned face.

"Then let him bring it forward," says the tallest centaur as the team of them trots over the crest of the hill to observe the scene. "This is the reason we have gathered."

Reepicheep hops off of the prince's chest then, and kindly sheathes his sword. Miranda almost comments on the adorable red feather perched on his head, but she decides against it.

"And who is this Daughter of Eve you've brought along, Trufflehunter?"

"She appeared in the middle of the woods, the same night Prince Caspian here showed up at our doorstep."

"I'm Miranda," she adds, unsure whether to offer her hand to shake or not. Is hand-shaking a custom here in Narnia?

"A pleasure. Now come, join us."

* * *

><p><strong>sarahwood - Yeah, they actually surprised me! I was expecting Miranda to be a little more shy, but she got a little sassy and I liked it so I kept it! Glad you liked her and Caspian meeting :) Thanks for the feedback!<strong>

**Review!**


	5. Chapter 4

**Alright, Chapter 4! It's actually a little hard to believe I'm this far in...it isn't very far at all, but it feels like a huge step from posting the prologue. Pat yourselves on the back, because I couldn't have kept this going without you guys and your support :)**

**Thank you to Dark-Enough-Conspiracy-Theory and liz-04 for the wonderful reviews! And thank you as well to all the followers/favoriters/readers out there!**

**Is this chapter a little shorter than previous ones? Yes. Why? Because it was the only place I could cut it, anywhere else and it'd be way, way too long. But never fear, I'll try to make the next chapter a little longer than usual to make up for it ;)**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

'He has a really deep voice,' Miranda ponders as the four of them follow the dark-coated centaurs through the woods.

It takes her a few moments to notice the prince that's come up next to her.

"I can take him," he offers, sounding just a little friendlier than before.

She shakes her head and pretends her arms aren't burning from holding up the wounded badger.

"I got it."

"I'm right here, you know," Trufflehunter grumbles, glancing up at her dryly.

"Sorry?"

They continue the walk in a silence that's, quite simply, awkward as all hell. The centaurs make their lack of conversation seem stoic, Nikabrik is sullen as usual (less so now, however), Trufflehunter has the excuse of his wound, and Prince Caspian just doesn't seem to know what to say. She can understand that; she's not sure if she should attempt to start a conversation or just walk along silently like the rest of them.

She goes back and forth on this admittedly trivial problem until they get to the camp. Camp? Well, it's more of a clearing with a few haphazard tents and old fire pits that look days old. Did everyone just get here? And how did they all hear one measly horn?

"Bring him here," says the tallest centaur who spoke before, gesticulating for Miranda to come with him.

"He'll be okay?" she asks, because even though it's just a dream Trufflehunter is kind and she doesn't like seeing him in pain. She broke out of a flashback for him, for heaven's sake.

"I'll be right as rain in no time, Miranda, don't you worry," Trufflehunter tells her with a pat on her arm.

She smiles what she hopes is a reassuring smile and leaves him in the care of the centaur whose name she still has to learn. No sooner has she walked two steps than she realizes that she has no use here whatsoever, and she has no living clue what to do with herself.

She supposes she could try and sort out whatever's wrong with her head, but that'll take energy and she's not sure she trusts anyone around here enough to go down that road. While she's sorting it out, she'll be vulnerable, and that's one thing she can't afford to be in a new place with so many new people, creatures. They could want nothing more than to kick her out, and she'd be none the wiser.

"You look rather lost."

Miranda whips around at the deep voice behind her. A centaur spoke, one of the four who first greeted them.

"Hi," she says, because what else do you say to a total stranger with half of a horse for a body?

"Suncloud. And you are?"

"Huh?"

"Suncloud is my name. And what might yours be?"

"Oh! Sorry! I'm Miranda." She sticks out her hand, expecting a very firm handshake, and the gesture is greeted with a confused tip of the head.

"I guess you guys don't do that here," she says, awkwardly letting her hand fall back to her side.

"Do what?" he asks.

"Shake hands."

"Show me."

She quirks an eyebrow at the command that sounds more playful than ominous and sticks out her hand again.

"Take it, palm to palm." He does as she says, though their massive height difference means he has to bend at the waist. "Now shake."

She laughs as he literally shakes her hand.

"No, like this." She demonstrates, and he picks up, and it's a little less awkward than before.

"Well, now that introductions are out of the way, would you like a tour of our lovely camp?"

She considers this for a moment before deciding there's no more danger in that than staying put. "That'd be nice, thanks."

"This way," he says, leading her to the right, the opposite of where she was before.

"This is the food area, where meals are made and we gather to eat." He leads her through a maze of fire pits that she didn't notice at first glance, some of which are still smoking, and past a tent that smells like a rich, earthy something.

"Whatever that is, it smells good."

"Bearn is quite talented at making even rudimentary ingredients into something delicious." He leads her out of the food area and into a more open space, with targets and wooden sticks laying about in some complicated pattern she can't figure out.

"The training area," he explains. "We're always preparing for a battle."

"More like a war, if you ask me," she says as they walk past a team of fauns (or satyrs, she's not sure which name the goat hybrids go by here) making rough weapons from branches. Not a war they'd win, granted, but she's not about to say that thought out loud.

"To us, it's much the same thing." He continues past the slightly intimidating racks of more weapons to a path that leads to a place she can't see.

"What's down there?" she asks, secretly hoping he'll just tell her and she won't have to walk down a strange path with him, a person she just met.

"There is the clearing, where our meeting tonight will be." He looks down at her, with a face that has worry lines that look odd on a face so young. "The prince blowing the horn, the Kings and Queens on the way, and the unexpected arrival of a Daughter of Eve are all things we must discuss."

"Wait, how am I important here?" she interrupts. She's sure the Narnians are quite lovely, but she really hates standing up in front of crowds, particularly crowds of strangers whose motivations she can't even begin to take a stab at.

Suncloud stops and regards her like she's a child in need of a lesson.

"You are a Daughter of Eve; you must be here for a reason."

"Yeah, well I'll tell you as soon as I figure it out," she mumbles. 'It's just a dream,' she tells herself. If she's honest, it really doesn't help all that much.

"We will figure this out together."

"That's what they all say," she mutters back, under her breath so maybe he won't hear. Honestly, what he said is perhaps the most predictable thing on earth that could have come out of his mouth.

"I'm afraid I do not understand; who is they?" asks the centaur.

"Never mind." She waves it off, trying not to let her embarrassment show, even though it's heating her cheeks and making her skin feel tight and pinched. "Anywhere else I should be aware of?"

Suncloud turns from the path and walks to the side of the camp she dropped off Trufflehunter.

"Here is the sleeping area."

"It's a big empty space."

"We sleep on the ground," says the centaur, as if it's the most normal thing in the world.

Miranda tries not to cringe. She'll be welcoming the feel of the hospital bed when she wakes up.

Perhaps sensing her discomfort, Suncloud moves on to the tent where she left Trufflehunter.

"This is the healer's tent. If you have an injury or illness, this is where you go."

She silently wonders if they have a shrink in there.

"And that's all there is," he concludes.

"Not too difficult, but I'll come crying to you if I get lost."

Miranda relishes the slight cringe that wrinkles the centaur's face.

"If you must," he manages.

"Not a fan of criers?"

"No. I do not understand the need."

"Well don't worry, most people don't. Crying is kind of a mystery; psychologists are still trying to figure out why we do it."

"Psychologists?" He stumbles over the unfamiliar word a little, his mouth screwing up at the corners as he tries to figure out how best to pronounce it.

"They're people who study the mind. I usually call them shrinks, just because that's more fun to say than psychologist."

"Shrink is much easier to say. I think I must call them such."

"A wise choice."

And there it is again: the awkward silence that often descends between people just getting to know each other who're trying unsuccessfully to think of something to say.

Miranda shifts from foot to foot to distract herself as Suncloud does the same next to her.

"So, we can stand here awkwardly, looking like idiots, until one of us comes up with some excuse, or we can attempt pleasant conversation, or we can go our separate ways. Your turf, so you pick," she blurts out. It's much easier than just standing here.

"Your forwardness is quite…" She waits for words like 'obnoxious' or 'exhausting' to some out of Suncloud's mouth, but he surprises her. "…refreshing."

A grin splits Suncloud's formerly serious face. It takes her so much by surprise that she grins right along with him.

"I think pleasant conversation would be the best of the three, don't you?"

Miranda keeps grinning, because she wouldn't mind a new friend here in her dream-world and Suncloud seems to enjoy her forthrightness, as he put it. Who better?

"Sounds great to me. So I guess we start with getting to know each other?"

"Very well. How did you come to be here?" Suncloud asks as he starts walking again, more casually this time.

"I'm not sure. I was in an accident, where two machines collided, and I woke up here."

"Hmm. And you remember nothing of how you arrived?"

She shakes her head. "No, I woke up in the forest and Trufflehunter took me in." She hesitates, because she's unsure of whether she should mention how it's just a vivid dream and when she wakes up she's back home.

"And what else?" he gently prompts.

'What the hell,' she thinks. And she tells him.

"How odd…" he muses in reply. "You believe all of this to be a dream?"

"There's really no other explanation. Even though dreams are usually self-centered, my guess is that the pain medication they put me on is making my dream psyche go haywire."

"Unless you dreamed of returning home, and you truly are here."

"Don't you wish," she retorts, with a grin to cover up how uneasy that thought makes her. She didn't want to consider that option, because if she really is here then she's got to deal with the whole mess of figuring out how to get back.

She clears her throat and changes the subject abruptly. "And now it's your turn. I know your name, but that's all I know. Family? How you came to be here?"

"I am the son of Glenstorm and Windmane, and I have two brothers: Rainstone and Ironhoof. We are some of the few Narnians left, after the Telmarines tried to wipe us out after taking our home." If Suncloud notices her unease, he's kind enough to let it go without commenting.

"I'm sorry." She can relate to the part about losing a home, if she really is here.

He dips his head in silent thanks and continues. "We gathered when the sound of Queen Susan's horn echoed throughout the forest. When the Kings and Queens of Old arrive, then we can take back our kingdom."

"Wow. That's much more interesting than my story."

Suncloud smiles down at her. "We each have our own, and now you are part of ours. I suspect you will find yours more interesting sooner than later."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. Now, next getting to know you question! Favorite food and favorite color, go."

"My favorite human food would have to be warm porridge with cream and cinnamon, a luxury I have not had but a few times. And my favorite horse food is fresh spring grass."

Wait a moment...horse food? Does he eat horse food too? Naturally, in the true spirit of getting to know him, Miranda asks exactly what he means.

"Centaurs have two stomachs: one of a horse, and one of a human. We must eat to fill both," he explains with amusement sparkling in his eyes as he regards her shock.

"Well, I haven't heard of that before," is the only thing she can think of to say. A single centaur probably eats as much in one sitting as she does in a week. Time to change the subject again, as standing there gawking would be rather rude.

"And your favorite color?"

"Dark green."

"Like an emerald?"

"Like pine."

"Good choice; pine smells good too."

He chuckles and sinks down next to a stump.

"Indeed. And now I believe it's your turn."

Miranda sits on the stump and says, "My favorite food is ice cream, and my favorite color is white, because it's all of them at once, our eyes just can't see it."

"Ice cream?"

"Oh man, you guys don't have that in Narnia?" At his shake of the head, she proceeds to explain the wonder of the frozen treat. "…cream and sugar and you can add any flavor under the sun that you can think of."

"It sounds wonderful."

Miranda nods enthusiastically. This is in her comfort zone, and she likes it.

"It is. I'll have to see if I can think up a way to make it here, because everyone should know what ice cream tastes like." She's beaming, she knows, but she can't help it. This is the first time she's felt comfortable since coming here.

"If you need a pair of hands to assist, I offer up mine."

The formality mixed with the playfulness confuses her a little, and she tells him so.

"As you can probably tell, I don't speak quite so formally," she finishes, pleased that he looks amused and not insulted.

"I am well aware," he chuckles. "What else would you like to know about me?"

"Well, I actually have kind of a selfish favor to ask…" Miranda trails off in embarrassment, staring down at her shoes and suddenly becoming very aware of the fact that her clothing is very 21st century and not at all medieval or Narnian. At least it's only jeans and a flowery top, and not shorts that barely cover her behind.

"I will happily oblige for a lady." Suncloud's tail flicks back and forth, looking very much like a cat's and not at all like a horse's.

"A brief history of Narnia would be very helpful, because everyone keeps talking about the Kings and Queens and Telmarines and Prince Caspian mentioned Aslan and I'm just really confused about everything." She gulps in a greedy few breaths after expelling the entire long sentence in one.

"Where do you wish me to start? From the creation of Narnia or the history from the Golden Age?"

For a moment, she's surprised he's actually going to humor her. But she recovers quickly and just says from the Golden Age. She probably doesn't need to know everything there is to know about Narnia, after all.

The two of them sit there for hours as he tells her everything about how the Golden Age began after the Great Winter, how the Pevensies defeated the White Witch and became the Kings and Queens of Narnia, enthroned at Cair Paravel. And he tells her about the Telmarine invasion too, after they disappeared while hunting the white stag.

It's a bit of an information dump, but it's what she asked for. She absorbs as much as she can, knowing she'll have to clarify some things as she goes, but all in all she's much better off now that she has at least a rudimentary idea of Narnia's history, in particular the Kings and Queens everyone is buzzing about.

Miranda's quite torn between wanting to meet them and wanting to shoot them. She's sick of hearing their names already. It takes several mental reminders that they're probably quite lovely people for her to stop cringing inwardly every time she hears their names in passing.

"I think that is more than enough history for today, don't you?" Suncloud says as she sits silently, digesting everything she's heard.

"I've had my crash course, it was wonderfully told, and I'm ready for a long nap," she admits.

"Crash course?"

"Quick once-over of the basics of something, in this case Narnian history."

"Ah." Suncloud lurches to his feet and extends his hand to help her up, which she accepts with a smile. "If you wish to rest now, I will leave you to it. Do remember to come to the gathering tonight."

"Why is it I have to be there again?" Miranda tries not to sound like a petulant child, but she's not sure she succeeds. She really, really wants to sleep and wake up and see her mom again, and hopefully her dad too, if he's not at work.

"You are a Daughter of Eve." He says that like it's obvious, and it makes her want to growl and stomp away. So she has two legs instead of four; what's so special about that?

"Right." She opts for a more diplomatic thumbs up and skitters away to the blank clearing of grass Suncloud told her was the sleeping area earlier. It takes her several minutes to settle on a spot, one not too close to the rest of camp but not so far on the outskirts that she's outside its protection.

To her surprise, she nods off as soon as her head hits the grass.

* * *

><p>She opens her eyes to a white-washed ceiling that makes her miss the green canopy of the Narnian forest. An absurd thing, really. 'Narnia isn't real,' she has to remind herself.<p>

She's also very aware of the fact that she's alone in this hospital room with only the incessant beeping of the heart monitor to keep her company.

It's…lonely. She isn't one to shy away from solitude, but she feels _lonely_. Really, really lonely; the gaping kind that feels like suffocating.

Miranda lays there in silence, listening to the steady beeping and wishing her mom or dad was there. But a glance at the clock shows her that it's nearly 4 in the morning. She'll be on her own for several more hours, until the nurse comes in to check her IV drip and maybe her temperature too.

"What am I supposed to do?" she says aloud, to break the silence. "I could count sheep. Or maybe make up a story about every object I can see in this room. Maybe I could sing something!"

Except she can't sing to save her life. Tone-deaf is the best compliment she's heard with regards to her voice.

"Maybe count the IV drip drops?" This is so ridiculous she makes herself smile, a strange feeling to say the least. Why smile when no one else is around to share the joy?

"Or I could think about Narnia again."

Oddly enough, this seems to be the least disagreeable of the options she's previously considered, so she nods to herself and begins.

"Well, it's nice there. All woodsy and nature-ified. It's pretty, and peaceful when we're not running from soldiers or arrows, or stalking a prince, or meandering through a camp filled to the brim with strangers."

Miranda feels like an utter idiot, talking to herself in the middle of the night like this, but what does it matter? No one's around to hear her anyway. At least, she hopes so. If there is, well, they'll have a night of entertainment until she falls back asleep.

"I'm going to miss Narnia, when I'm off these meds," she realizes.

It's absurd to miss something that doesn't really exist, but the dreams are so vivid that she feels like it _does_ exist, even if it's just for a few hours while she's asleep. It feels real, even though it isn't.

Maybe it's because she's met so many people, and her head doesn't usually dream up a lot of new faces. And they're kind to her, even though most of them are half animal or all animal. But they can talk, and they make her feel welcome underneath her quiet anxiety at being in a strange place with strangers who haven't necessarily proven she can trust them just yet.

And she flashes back a lot less there.

They'd been happening off and on for the past week before she took genuine notice of them. They started out small and insignificant, and gradually grew until she crashed a car in her panic. And there, in the world she's somehow dreamed up, a world she is and isn't sure is her own wild imagination, she feels safe.

She has no idea what to make of that.

"Well, I can't live in a dream world," she reasons aloud. So she can't get too attached; she'll have to try and remember that next time she dreams. She'll have to ask the doctors about this to, next time she's awake and they're here.

What will they say? They won't throw her in a psych ward, right? She'd rather not admit that as a fear, but it's there just the same. She's not crazy, is she?

If only she had someone to talk to. But wait; she can talk to someone in Narnia, just for the catharsis. A dream person knowing won't do any harm, right? Why would it? Dream people aren't real, or so she has to keep telling herself.

She wonders over this idea for what feels like minutes, but must be quite a bit longer, because she sees the room lightening up after a little while. A nurse with bags under her eyes comes and checks on her as she tries to catch a glimpse of the rising sun through the blinds. Miranda tries to ask to speak to a doctor, but she's told they'll be in to check on her soon, and even when she's trying to explain that she might not be awake and she needs to talk to one now, it feels like she's being brushed off.

"She'll be in today, and you can see her tomorrow if you miss her," the nurse insists before walking unceremoniously out of the room.

"But I need to talk to her now," Miranda whispers to the closed door.

All she wants to do now is go back to sleep and go to Narnia where the people she speaks to listen to her. But she can't, not until she figures out how this dreaming thing works. Not until she's sure it's safe to pour out everything she wants to a friend she's just met. She can't take chances, not with this.

So she waits, and waits, and waits. At some point, she thinks she feels a phantom hand on her shoulder, and she braces herself for the panic that she's sure will be here any second. But it doesn't, leaving her confused but still determined to wait for the damn doctor.

Miranda tries to stay awake, she really truly does, but in the end she loses the battle, just as she thinks she hears footsteps in the hallway.

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	6. Chapter 5

**Sorry about the ****slightly late chapter guys, I was dealing with a small personal emergency for the past few days so I was hung up. But I think it's resolved now so we're back in schedule!**

**Thank you to liz-04 for reviewing, and to all you quiet favoriters/followers/readers out there! **

****Forewarning about this chapter: it gets into what happened to Miranda in considerable depth, and may be triggering. Read with caution. And if you don't want to read this chapter, you can skip it and send me a PM and I'll tell you anything you need to know for future chapters.**

**On a happier note, please do leave me your thoughts! I love hearing from you guys :)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

"Wake up, Miranda!"

She starts awake at the harsh jostling of her shoulder. The sight of the male face so close to hers almost makes her scramble away in fear. But it's only Suncloud, and she's about to be late to the meeting, or so he's telling her.

"It starts any second, get up!"

"How important is this thing?" she grumbles, somehow quite annoyed at being woken, even though it was just a nap and she wasn't too exhausted and she isn't too tired now, because her visit with her mom is still swirling in her head.

"Quite, as I've told you before." With one final tug, Suncloud has her on her feet and stumbling after him.

The first thing she knows is that she was just telling herself how few flashbacks she has in Narnia.

The second thing she knows is that she's yanking away from the kind centaur and trying not to scream, because for a moment the hand wasn't his and she wasn't in Narnia.

Suncloud looks back at her, concerned, as she tries to control her breathing, but she's losing the battle and she thinks she's going to throw up because his face is constantly there, and the pain between her legs and her cheeks is like fire and she can't take it.

"Go on, I'll catch up," she manages to say amid the blinding, paralyzing terror.

"No, something's the matter, and-"

"Go!"

Miranda didn't mean to yell, but yell she did. She's not entirely sorry, if only because it works and Suncloud leaves her so she can calm down and convince herself that he's not here to hurt her, he's not trying to win her trust so he can crush her later.

Right?

She isn't sure what's real right now; the flashes and the memories of pain and cruel pounding keep coming faster and faster, as if they've been waiting for this forever and they're at last free to run amuck.

Something is telling her that going to the gathering in the immediate aftermath of this isn't the best idea in the world. But if she doesn't show, they're sure to ask questions, and what chance does she really have of surviving on her own in the wild? Or worse, with the soldiers on the loose and chasing after the prince she's been seen with?

Except those soldiers did die, so no one else knows.

But if the Narnians start looking for her? They know the woods like the backs of their hands or better; she stands less of a chance with them than the soldiers, and they'll think she's a spy or traitor if she leaves.

Miranda hauls herself to her feet with more difficulty than she'll ever admit. The flashes are still coming fast and heavy, but she has to grit her teeth and force herself to go to this blasted meeting, and then she can run off into the woods and take care of herself and stuff the memories back into the steel box they belong in.

It feels like _he_ is behind her every step she takes. Waiting like a spider for her to turn around so he can take her mouth. Her jaw aches just at the suggestion her mind puts forth.

But here she is, almost to the clearing; she's managed to stumble across the now-deserted camp to the gathering area, and now the angry shouts of the Narnians threaten to drown her. It takes her a few moments to realize they're not shouting at her, but at Prince Caspian, there in the middle, surrounded on all sides.

Miranda wants to reach out to him, because he looks so sad and lost and unsure of himself, but she knows that her mind will convert the prince to _him_ and she can't have a meltdown here. Not in front of so many.

Still, she can't help but cringe as the Narnians raise their fists in anger and call Prince Caspian terrible things: liar, murderer, thief. It makes her sorry for him that he has to stand here and take it. He can't fight back, not really, not without stirring them up further.

"Kill him!" comes an angry shout, from one of Suncloud's brothers.

Miranda looks to find her new friend, but can't place him in the sea of faces, all contorted with anger.

"All this horn proves is that they've stolen yet another thing from us!"

Miranda looks down to see Nikabrik looking furious, pointing an accusing finger at the prince who's standing in the middle, silently taking all this. She decides right then that she wants to try to be a friend to him, even though she didn't have the best of first impressions. He looks like he could use a friend.

"I didn't steal anything," Prince Caspian replies, his voice significantly quieter than the voices around him. She's not sure if he's trying to seem non-threatening, but she's very sure that if he is, it's a bit late for that.

"Didn't steal anything? Shall we list the things the Telmarines have taken?" comes the angry reply of a Minotaur waving his axe in the air.

"Our homes!" answers a female centaur.

"Our freedom," says a faun.

"Our lives!" This is the collective accusation that all of the Narnians, save a few silent and stoic ones, make, a deafening roar of anger and hurt.

That's the realization that hits her. They're hurting, and she somehow forgot that because their anger seemed so strong. They are sad and broken beneath it all, but still so strong. And so is he, the prince they stand here and accuse as if he's a common criminal. And so is she, though she hasn't trusted any of them with her secrets yet. This changes her view of this whole thing entirely.

The shouts don't make her want to shrink away in fear, or run off into the forest away from all this madness, not now that she understands. She feels like they're all the same, deep down.

"You would hold me accountable for all the crimes of my people?"

Miranda can hear the pain in Prince Caspian's question, that he's suffered at the hands of his people too. And here he is, being blamed for all of it.

"Accountable, and punishable," snarls Nikabrik as he stalks toward him.

She wants nothing more than to run down and stand next to him, Prince Caspian. But she's still afraid, and she doesn't want to be but she is. Her feet won't obey her.

"Ha! That is rich coming from you, dwarf." Now Reepicheep has joined the fray, toothpick sword drawn as he bounds toward the dwarf. "Or have you forgotten that it was your people who fought alongside the White Witch?" The mouse punctuates the last two words with little waves of his sword, which Nikabrik rudely bats away.

"And we'd gladly do it again, if it would rid us of these…barbarians!"

The blame game is one the Narnians are playing well tonight. She hates watching it.

"Then it is lucky that it is not in your power to bring her back," Trufflehunter cuts in.

She remembers Suncloud telling her about that, the Great Winter and the White Witch and how the Pevensies defeated her and brought about Narnia's Golden Age. That was them, right?

"Or are you suggesting we ask this boy to go against Aslan now?" Trufflehunter finishes.

This prompts a roar of disapproval from the Narnians. So they have enough sense not to want a witch back; that's a good sign.

Trufflehunter then does the thing Miranda wishes she was brave enough to do. He speaks for Prince Caspian, in his favor.

"Some of you may have forgotten, but we badgers remember well that Narnia was never right unless a Son of Adam was king."

"He's a Telmarine! Why would we want him as our king?!" Nikabrik's holler gets another roar from the crowd. Until Prince Caspian silences them by saying something no one was expecting him to say.

"Because I can help you." Quiet descends, and for the first time all night, the Narnians listen to him. "Beyond these woods, I am a prince. The Telmarine throne is rightfully mine! Help me claim it, and I can bring peace between us."

She believes him. Miranda believes him even though she doesn't even know him.

Silence descends as the Narnians digest this. Then the tallest centaur, Glenstorm, as she's learned his name is, comes forward, saying, "It is true. The time is right."

His gaze inclines upward as he continues, "I watch the skies, for it is mine to watch, as it is yours to remember, badger. Tarva, the Lord of Victory, and Alambil, the Lady of Peace, have come together in the high heavens."

Miranda finds her gaze is drawn upward to look for the constellations, even though she doesn't know what they look like.

"And now here, a Son of Adam has come forth to offer us back our freedom."

Glenstorm's tone, one that marries determination and somberness, draws her attention back to the middle of the clearing, where Prince Caspian is looking awestruck that someone's actually taking his side.

"Is it possible? Do you really think there could be peace? Do you? I mean, I mean really?"

Miranda looks for the source of the tiny, hyper voice, but she can't quite find it. When Prince Caspian addresses a rotund squirrel perched on a branch near him, she can't help but wish that the real world had talking squirrels.

"Two days ago, I didn't believe in the existence of talking animals! Or dwarves, or-or centaurs. And here you are." She's yet to see the prince this passionate, and it warms her. "In strength and numbers that we Telmarines could never have imagined! Whether this horn is magic or not," he says as he holds up the carved reason for the gathering, "it brought us together. And together, we have a chance to take back what it ours."

She'd follow him. And Glenstorm agrees.

"If you will lead us," the centaur says, "then my sons and I offer you our swords."

The dull ring of many other swords being drawn and held in the air echoes throughout the clearing, and Miranda is left wishing she had a weapon of her own to lift in loyalty.

"And we offer you our lives," finishes Reepicheep, though she can barely hear him from where she's standing, "unreservedly."

"Miraz's army will not be far behind us, Sire," Trufflehunter interjects.

Miranda's stomach churns at the thought of facing more soldiers, and an army of them at that.

"If we are to be ready for them, we'll need to hurry to find soldiers and weapons," orders Prince Caspian, with a newfound confidence that makes her smile. He says something else, but she can't hear what it is because she's too far away.

And then the clearing, well, clears. Some of the Narnians file out, and many flock to their new leader, a Telmarine prince who actually looks like he should be in charge. She supposes he's born for this, trained for this, but such confidence is something she can't help but admire.

She's also hopelessly unsure of what she should do now. What purpose does she serve here? None, that she's aware of. So much of her just wants to run off into the woods and leave this whole thing behind, to try to make a place for herself until she wakes up at home. But that doesn't sit well with her.

Even though the Narnians are all strangers to her, she feels an urge she can't put her finger on to try to help them in any way she can. But what can she offer? The only thing she's really good at is psychology and how people think, and what use is that in a war?

Wait. It could be quite helpful in a war.

'And just how do I use that?' she wonders, sitting down on the grass behind a boulder large enough to hide her from view. 'Yes, I should just waltz up and go, 'Hi, remember me? Well I'm good at dissecting the human mind, so what do you say you take me to go meet your dearly beloved uncle and I'll figure out what's going on in his brain?'' Somehow, she gets the feeling that approach would be extraordinarily unhelpful.

Not to mention how many people it would rub the wrong way.

But it is all just a dream; what does she have to lose? Very little, technically speaking.

And logic aside, she wants to do right here. She cares, even though she knows none of this is real.

She needs to talk to that doctor she keeps missing, and soon. And she always wakes up after she's fallen asleep here, so it's time to go back to the sleeping area and get some sleep.

But as soon as she's made her way over there, there are so many people that she's afraid to go to bed, surrounded by strangers that she isn't positive mean her no harm.

"I apologize about the meeting; we did not address your appearance here."

She jumps a little at the surprise of Suncloud sounding so close to her.

"It's alright," she says as she turns around, trying to mask her nerves.

"Are you ill at ease?"

"Is it that obvious?" Miranda can't help but be a little annoyed at how Suncloud seems to read her so well. Like a father, or a brother.

"Yes." A smile seems to be tugging at the centaur's mouth, as if he's amused by her discomfort. It makes her hackles spring up.

"I'm not used to so many creatures in one place," she says, hoping he'll buy the half-truth.

"Ah, I understand. There is a spot towards the edge I can show you. It is safe, and it is away from the crowd."

"Thank you." She's grateful beyond measure, though she isn't sure how to say it aloud. She hopes Suncloud understands how much she appreciates this. "That would be wonderful."

"Come." He beckons to her, and she forces back a memory that's threatening to surface.

Someone else has said those words to her.

"Suncloud? How would I know if this was real?"

Miranda wasn't expecting to ask that, but it slipped out before she could censor herself, and now she regrets it, just a little.

"I suppose you wouldn't."

The answer isn't the one she wanted, but it's honest, and oddly it comforts her more than she thought.

She thanks him, both for the answer and for the space he shows her in the shadows where no one will see her unless she makes a real ruckus.

It takes her the better part of the night to fall asleep, and it's only when the snores of the rest of them echo through the clearing that she finally relaxes enough to sleep.

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><p>Miranda wakes in the middle of the night, with crickets chirping and the moon shining on her face. The shadows she laid down in have moved just enough, and now she feels vulnerable without the protection. She's not invisible now.<p>

So she gets up and tiptoes to the edge of the woods, where she feels safer. Even if everyone is asleep, she doesn't like the idea that one of them could wake up at any time, and she'd be out in the open and defenseless. She knows that feeling, and she never wants to be helpless again.

Speaking of which, now's as good a time as ever to try and sort out exactly what happened. She's all on her own, it's the middle of the night, and the distractions will be sparse to none.

So she sits down on the nearest log, still in sight of the clearing but hidden in the shadows, where she can see all but none can see her.

She doesn't want to know.

Miranda is keenly aware of this fact, but she's of the mind that she has to know, or how can she cope with it? How can she stave off memories if she can't even make sense of them? She can't, and she can't afford to be vulnerable here in Narnia. She needs a clear head to figure out what her purpose here is. Flashbacks do nothing to help, obviously; they hinder at every turn.

She begins with the patches she remembers, the things that come to her in flashes. An oily voice whispering things like, "There's a good girl," and "Come here," and "It'll feel so good," and "Let me take care of you." Then come the shouts, the profanities hurled at her that pair with the suffocating feeling of running forever and never being able to stop because he'll win if she does. The smell of asphalt after the rain comes to her, a hand yanking her hair, the echoing thud of her skull hitting the ground.

She remembers how it started too. How she kept noticing him around, always looking at her, studying her like a specimen in his own personal lab. How he came up and introduced himself one day when she was in class, because of course he was a classmate of hers. How his handshake was too firm and far too long, how he constantly smelled of tobacco and unwashed clothes. Stale, like he'd been rotting for a long time. She remembers how sometimes when she'd look back while she was walking from her friend's house to her own, he'd be there, walking a ways behind, but always watching. Always studying, always waiting.

And the night, that night where she knows something awful happened, but she can't remember anything other than snapshots of pain and screaming, so much screaming and begging. The taste of blood in her mouth, how hot and bitter it was as she spat it out. She can still see the red spattering onto the pavement, painting it with her panic and disgust.

Miranda remembers all these things, but she can't remember sights, not aside from a leering face with a smile that's too pinched and eyes that are too small and hair that curls every which way, hair the color of a sick sun; an ugly, deformed gold that could have been beautiful, if only he thought to wash it.

Her heart rate is already far beyond her control, but she's getting there and if she doesn't know now, she'll never have the courage to go to this place again, she's sure. But all that comes to her is a pale shaft, the gag reflex that was triggered mercilessly as it forced its way into her mouth and throat, making her vomit but blocking the vile stuff from escaping, so it sat in the back of her throat and burned through what felt like a thousand different nerves. She remembers how her teeth sank down as her last resort, her final desperate attempt to buy some time to get away. The image of the spattered blood comes to her again, the dark red illuminated by the flickering streetlight on the curb.

She doesn't want to know, still. But she has to, so she forces it.

She forces herself to remember every detail of the face, of the house where he took her, how the front door was one of screen and then one of wood, both splintering and cracking from age or overuse. The dust that sat unattended on the kitchen counter that they passed on the way to the room. His room, the room where he…she knows he did something, but she doesn't know. She knows it hurt, she can feel her lower half clamping in protest just to the memory.

Then it comes back. All of it, like a flood she's staring at and can't stop.

It hurts now as badly as it did when he first took her. It burns now, like a sin seared into her skin for all to see. She wouldn't be a bit surprised if something did show up, because it feels like all of her is on fire, burning in hell for her stupidity. She didn't resist as he led her into the house, she remembers now. She felt happy for the attention, innocently sure that they'd just be watching a movie. A movie in the living room, right?

The bed was unmade. She remembers wondering why they were in his room, because there wasn't a TV and she couldn't see a computer. And the sheets were a hideous greenish-yellow, a color both faded and too vibrant to stomach.

She first understood then that something was wrong. When she asked him what was going on, and he said to just lay down and relax, because she was in for the ride of her life. He used another word, actually, but she doesn't want to even think it, because it makes it feel even more real than it already does.

Then nothing. She must have blacked out, or her mind won't let her access whatever happened, but her next memory is of searing pain, pain that feels like it's tearing her open from the inside. The pain of being stretched where she never should be stretched, and his whisper in her ear that she's so tight and such a good, good girl that he could just take her all night. She remembers trying to scream, only to find his hand on her throat, blocking the sound from ever escaping. And it makes it hard to breathe, hard to think, and everything is going fuzzy.

He whispered to her all about her ass and how much he loved it before the pressure on her throat made her black out again.

She can't take much more of this, she knows. Her heart is ready to beat itself clean out of her chest, and her breathing is so erratic that her vision is going fuzzy and her hearing is warbled. It's like she's being choked all over again.

She needs to calm down, and she knows it has to be now. So she lets her mind bury the memories back in the part of her she can't access. She needs the break, she needs to pretend, just for a few minutes, that none of it ever happened and she's just a normal girl in a world called Narnia in the middle of the night, sitting on a log in the woods because it's a nice night and the moon is winking at her through the trees.

A crunch behind her has her bolting to her feet with her fists in front of her face before she can even blink. She just about curses aloud when she sees the startled face of Prince Caspian staring back at her.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" she says, hoping he can't hear how her voice shakes just the tiniest bit.

"Shouldn't you?" he returns.

He has a point, but she's not about to say so.

"No one gave me a curfew, and it's a nice night."

"It is. The moon is quite bright."

Miranda nods and forces herself to lower her fists and return her unballed hands to her sides.

"Sorry by the way, you startled me."

"This would be the second time I've startled you badly enough that you were ready to fight me. I believe I must be the one to apologize."

Is a prince about to apologize to her just for startling her? Well this'll be a first.

And he does, with a bow and a flourish, and the absurdity of the whole thing makes her smile. Smiling feels foreign to her after her recent memories, but it feels good too.

"It's fine, I'm just a little jumpy. Waking up in a new world can be disorienting."

"I imagine so," says the prince with a chuckle.

"Well Your Highness, I think I'll leave you to admire the moon while I get back to sleep." Miranda moves to walk back to camp to keep up the pretense, but the prince stops her.

"You really are a terrible liar, Miranda."

"Is that the first time you've actually said my name?" Anything at all to distract him and keep him from guessing what's really the matter.

"Changing the subject will not work. I know it's not my place to ask what troubles you, but may I ask anyway?"

Miranda rolls her eyes and keeps herself angled away from him, even though she's a little bit touched by his respect.

"You can ask all you like."

"Then what troubles you?"

She puts on her most winning smirk and tries not to relish in her reply. "I never said I would answer you."

Prince Caspian furrows his brow in what she guesses to be annoyance.

"And why do you want to know anyway?" she continues. "I'm a stranger to you."

"Well you did advise me against leaving last night." He takes a step toward her; she mirrors him by stepping backwards. "And you are afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid of you," she says, not caring that she sounds indignant. "I'm just cautious."

"Why?"

"New world thing, remember?"

Prince Caspian shakes his head, and she marvels at his audacity.

"It's more than that. I will stop asking what it is, but please know you have nothing to fear from me."

"Liar."

The word falls from her lips before she even realizes she was thinking it, leaving her with nothing to do but square her jaw and try to look strong.

Prince Caspian, on the other hand, looks a little hurt and a lot confused as he looks between her and the ferns that come all the way to his knees.

It's not his fault, and she does want to tell him so; it's just that she's heard those words before, panted into her ear as her demon took something from her, and she hates hearing the same words from Prince Caspian's lips. She saw someone good earlier tonight in the meeting, and she wants to think of him like that, not as someone who's waiting for the right moment to break her.

"I'm sorry," she finally manages to say. "I just don't like it when people say that. It sets my teeth on edge."

He nods, forehead still wrinkled in confusion, but the hurt is gone.

"I will avoid such words in future." With that, he turns away from her and starts to walk back in the direction of the camp.

"Wait," she says, almost against her will but not quite. He turns around, cautiously expectant. "What you did at the meeting earlier? That was pretty cool."

He dips his head in what she assumes to be a 'thank you' and smiles just a little.

"It was the right thing to do. We all have lost things dear to us."

The way he's looking at her makes her wonder if he doesn't mean her too.

"Well good job. The Narnians have a good leader."

Prince Caspian smiles at that, really smiles, though he doesn't show his teeth.

"Thank you."

Never have two words sounded so good to her. They sound…safe, like he means them without any malice or twisted purpose. She's been thanked before too, after it was over that night, but this thanks is different; it's sweet and true and pure.

She almost thanks him too, but she understands this would only confuse him more, and so she settles for a hesitant smile, the best she can conjure, and a quiet "You're welcome" before letting him walk away.

Somehow, that fact that he does just that, walks away, sticks with her the most, and it puts a smile on her face that lasts well into sunrise.

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><p><strong>Review!<strong>


	7. Chapter 6

**Alright guys, I've got some news for you. It's bittersweet, so bear with me. I've decided to get a beta for this story because while I do have a very strong idea of where I want it to go, I really feel like this story needs an extra set of eyes going over it before I post. That's the good part. ****The maybe not as good part is that I'm not sure what this means for updates yet. I'll obviously keep you guys informed, but at the moment I'm looking at putting all my stories on hold to finish this one. That looks like no updates for at least a month, after which the updates will come on a regular schedule. So just a little patience on your part and a lot of intensive work on my part and we're looking at a much better story with scheduled updates after a little bit of a wait. I am quite excited about this, and I hope you guys are too. Okay, enough business!**

**Thank you to you lovely reviewers in particular! For last chapter, that was liz-04, sarahwood, and Guest. Reviews never fail to make my day! And of course, thank you as well to everyone who's favorited/followed/read this story thus far :)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

When the camp starts humming to life, Miranda stands from her log, rubbing her backside where it's gone numb, and hurries over to see if she can make herself useful. There's a lightness to her step that puts her in a mood to be as kind as possible. It takes her the skip back to camp and into the cooking area to understand that she feels truly safe. She hasn't felt that in…a long time, she realizes. Quite a long time, and it feels so good that she could just sing. It'll fade of course, but for now she can enjoy it.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" she asks a faun who seems to be in charge of breakfast.

She's directed to cut up fruit, a task she does with a bounce in her step and a grin still on her face. If her cheerfulness is annoying to anyone, they don't say a thing; in fact, some of them hum along to the tune she whistles intermittently.

After breakfast, she seeks out Suncloud and asks if there's a way for her to train. She wants to feel useful, and she wants to make the best of this temporary high while it lasts.

"Come with me; I will teach you," replies the centaur with a kindly smile. She realizes she feels safe with him too, and it boosts her mood even more.

They train with the others in the practice area, with wooden swords that are just a little crooked. But she holds her own, or at least, as well as she can for her first lesson, and Suncloud tells her to be proud because she's made a lot of progress just in one day.

Miranda is still practically skipping as she titters through the camp, looking for something else to do. She spent a few hours with the sword, and there must be something else for her to do, but it takes her the better part of an hour to find it. She ends up running into Ironhoof, Suncloud's brother, and she learns that he'll be helping with the raid Prince Caspian is planning on the Telmarine's supply wagons down by the Ford of Beruna. She wonders aloud when it'll be, and Ironhoof tells her tonight, and she asks if they need a distraction. He's surprised at her offer, to say the least, but he brings her to the group of them planning the ambush.

"She's small and quick; she might just be what we need to draw the guard."

"You are willing to do this, Miranda?" Prince Caspian asks, as if he can't believe that the girl who jumped at the sound of his footsteps last night wants to throw herself headlong into a raid where she could be hurt much worse.

"I want to help, and if this is how I do that, then yes." She's proud of the strength in her voice; it fuels her energy, which seems to be running boundless today. Maybe it's the lack of sleep? No, she knows she's thriving off of this feeling of security. She wants to give back, somehow.

Narnia. A world that's real, and a world that she just might be able to make a difference in. A world where, maybe, just maybe, she can really be safe and feel safe and find some sort of goodness in people.

Prince Caspian exchanges a look with Glenstorm, and at the centaur's nod, he tells her where to be and exactly what to do. It involves a simple hit and run, but she has another idea.

She's also keenly aware of how the idea will sound, so she keeps it to herself as a last resort kind of measure.

Dusk comes, dinner passes, and she marvels that she ends up sitting with Prince Caspian. How it happened, she's not sure, but she can't find it in her to be scared, not tonight, not after she realized that Narnia is safe and so are the people she's with. She can't wait to tell all this to the doctor, whenever she finally meets him or her.

"Why did you volunteer to help tonight?"

Miranda turns to Prince Caspian with a smile.

"Prince Caspian, I meant what I said last night. And I'm so glad you didn't push me." She leaves it at that, even though she can tell he's curious.

"One thing, Miranda; I would have you call me Caspian, without my title. There is no need for it."

She smiles broader in reply and says she'll remember that.

Her good feeling lasts into the night, even as they're preparing to leave and Prince Caspian is asking if she's sure she can keep up.

Her reply is a confident yes, one she's sure she wouldn't have been able to make yesterday. She feels powerful now, and she can't place why, but it's intoxicating. She's also keenly aware that this feeling won't last forever; she needs to take advantage of it when she can.

The small, stealthy party of a few dozen hurry through the woods until they reach Beruna, where they pick a pile of logs to hide behind. Miranda splits off with Suncloud to do her part.

"Remember, whistle twice if you need help," the centaur tells her as she ventures toward the open, still hiding in the shadows when she can.

She gives a thumbs up and delves right into her task.

The first guard is relatively easy to distract; all she has to do it toss a pebble off to his left and he scurries off to investigate. The second one needs a rustle of leaves and the thud of a rock before he leaves his post, and the third waits until he hears her whisper floating through the night breeze to go off toward the woods.

The fourth and fifth won't budge whatever she does. So she goes with her last resort and prays the Narnians aren't watching her every move too terribly closely.

She slips from the shadows into the main path through the encampment. She makes sure her shadow passes through the remaining two guards' lines of vision. And she walks toward them, hunching over just a little to make it look like she's sneaking without knowing how.

"Hey!"

Perfect.

They both come over toward her, and she looks up at them through her lashes.

"I'm sorry," she whispers in her most feminine voice. "I'm looking for Sasha. I don't suppose you've seen him?"

"Sasha?" one of them gruffly asks.

"His aunt told me he's working here, felling the trees of this awful forest. We were engaged only last week, and I already miss him so. Forgive me, I just have to see him. Do you know where he is?"

She makes sure to arch her back and appear as helpless as she can. A needle of fear pricks at her stomach, but she ignores it. She knows how to handle them, she's sure of it. Suncloud's training has seen to that, though he wasn't targeting this type of scenario.

"The workers' tents are over there," says the one to her left.

"Why go to Sasha when you could have a night with me?" whispers the other one, lowly so only she can hear. The gust of air against the shell of her ear sends chills down her spine, but she puts on her most flirtatious smile.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, good sirs," she coos. She'd be disgusted with this behavior under normal circumstances, but tonight the Narnians need her help, and she's determined to give it to them.

"Let me show you."

She flashes the lewd soldier her most winning smile and quietly agrees to follow him and asks the second soldier to accompany them, so she'll feel safe. It works, perfectly.

She lets them lead her to a tent that's on the edge of all the others, and she quickly assesses everything she can reach the second she's inside. She doesn't think after that, she just does.

Within ten seconds, she's grabbed the crossbow sitting just to her left and hit one of them over the head. Within fifteen, she's hit the second one and they're both lying crumpled on the floor.

Power surges in her again, warm and heady and oh so addicting. She likes this sense of control that comes with striking back.

She doesn't waste any time getting back to Suncloud. He sends the signal that the coast is clear in the form of an owl's hoot, and then the Narnians swarm the supply wagons.

It's all surprisingly efficient. Unfortunately, Prince Caspian ends up scratching a message, presumably for his murderous uncle, in the door of one of the wagons and taking a little too much time. Two of the guards she distracted are coming back, and she has to tug him away herself, and even then his struggle is making a ruckus and she has to hush him with a hand over his mouth. Quite a feat, considering he has several inches on her.

"Two soldiers were coming, we had to go," she hisses to him as the party melts away into the forest again, and she with them.

He nods once, or at least she thinks he does; it's the dark grey before sunrise, and it's still hard to see.

They get back to the camp in the morning, when those of them carrying weapons go to unload and Miranda stumbles to the sleeping area and is out before her head even hits the ground.

* * *

><p>When she wakes, it's daylight, almost high noon by the sun. And apparently another raid is in the works; she passes the same team, with Prince Caspian in the center, on her way to the practice area as she's trying to stretch the kinks from her back. They wave her over, and she trots up to them happily. She likes feeling like she made a difference, that she helped.<p>

But already the safe feeling is wearing off. She thinks Prince Caspian notices; he keeps looking at her, concern on his face, and she has to force a few smiles to keep up the pretense. Everyone else seems to buy it, but he doesn't. No, he still looks over at her, as if he's waiting for her to topple over or some such nonsense. It's concern if ever she saw it, and she can't fathom why he cares so much when they barely even know each other. For that matter, she isn't sure how he can read her so well either.

"Now Miranda, because you distracted two of the guards personally last time, you'll need to stick to a hands-off approach," Ironhoof tells her.

"Or not." All twelve heads turn to look at her in confusion. "They know me; use that. Sneak up behind them, I'll be in front of them, and you clonk them on the head while they're busy staring and imagining ways to slit my throat."

No one notices the slight twinge of dark humor in the statement; a collective nod greets her proposal.

"We should have enough weapons after this raid with the ones we're making at the How," Prince Caspian says. "I think that just might work."

"The How?" Miranda didn't mean to ask that out loud in the interest of not wasting everyone's time, but Prince Caspian quickly explains.

"We've sent some of the Narnians to Aslan's How, a few days from here. They've been making weapons and training there."

"Ah."

Now they group has moved on to more tactician, wartime topics, so she excuses herself and proceeds to the training area where she finds a young faun to practice with. He gives her a few tips, but their level of experience is about equal, and so the most help they are to each other is sparring. She isn't sure about how she'd feel being taught by a half-goat who's about a foot shorter than her, anyway.

"Perhaps you should move your feet further apart?" the innocent little creature, with tufts of brown fur on his back that Miranda would just love to pat and stroke, suggests.

"I'll try. And maybe you should keep up your sword a little." He takes her suggestion to heart, and the spar continues until another interruption happens upon them.

"You both need to move less frantically."

Miranda turns to regard the young bearer of the voice that broke her focus. A child centaur, who has apparently not matured enough for a shirt to be necessary. This ruffles Miranda the wrong way, but she hides it for the sake of the poor child's feelings.

"How do you mean?" she says instead, deciding to humor the centaur because the creature does sound like he knows what he's talking about.

"I mean you both tend to just swing without thinking. Take the time to think, and you'll improve."

"Solid advice," Miranda says. "Who told it to you?"

"My uncle, Glenstorm. He's kind of the commander around here, second to Prince Caspian of course," he answers, still standing tall and proud on his colt's legs.

"What do you think of Prince Caspian?" asks the faun beside her.

The centaur shrugs, almost as if he's indifferent. "He's nice, and he speaks well. But I think he has to grow up a bit more before he's ready to seize his throne."

"What makes you think that?" Miranda asks, even though she kind of agrees with the perceptive child.

He shrugs again in reply. "He just thinks with his heart. A king has to think with his heart and his head. That's what Trumpkin told me, at least."

"Who's Trumpkin?" Miranda hasn't heard that name before, though the cadence is familiar.

"He's a red dwarf who was quite good friends with Nikabrik and Trufflehunter. They all lived in a tree not too far from here."

"And now? Where is Trumpkin now?"

"Nikabrik said that the soldiers chasing Prince Caspian took him. He charged them, and now we don't know if he's alive or if they killed him." Big tears fill the child's eyes, and Miranda hugs him without thinking.

"He'll be alright, you'll see." Of course, she has no idea if he will be, but this is what the child needs to hear, so she gives it to him.

The child sniffles into Miranda's shirt for a few moments before straightening stoically and thanking her.

"I've got to go practice my archery now, but perhaps I'll come by to give you advice again." And with that, the child trots off, flaxen tail swishing as he goes.

Miranda stares after the young centaur in blatant awe. That was no child; perhaps it was the war that made him grow up so quickly?

"Shall we?"

Miranda practices with the faun until they're both exhausted, which takes them well into dusk. They go together to eat dinner, and Miranda ends up sandwiched between him and Suncloud, a happy occasion because she's missed her conversations with him, even though it's only been a day or so.

"What made you decide to jump in to help with the raids?" he asks her as soon as she's gotten her plate of food.

"I'm not sure. I suddenly felt safe, and I wanted to give back somehow." She thinks there might be more, but that's the answer that feels right.

"You do seem less…how would you put it? Jumpy?"

Miranda nods. "I am."

"May I inquire what inspired this change of mind?"

Miranda falls silent, because she doesn't want to admit that it can be traced back to the action of one person. But Suncloud is her friend, even if a new one, and she thinks he can be trusted to keep his mouth shut if she asks him to.

"Don't you dare repeat this, but it was the prince. He walked away when I didn't want to open up. No one's done that before."

"You're happy because he walked away?" Suncloud sounds incredulous, and a part of her doesn't blame him. It is a bit odd, from a certain perspective.

"Yes."

Their conversation moves to small talk, something that relieves her. She can do small talk, she can hide away with the simple words about nothing in particular.

She suddenly wonders if she can go to the How, to help there after the raids are finished. Didn't the prince say something about training there?

After dinner, she makes a point to seek out Prince Caspian and ask him about this. To her surprise, he agrees to send her out with the next group, even though she tries to tell him that she can get there on her own if he tells her which way to go.

"It is not safe for anyone to travel alone," is his reply, one that annoys her but that she has to respect. She's grown to respect him a bit, just from his speech at the meeting before. It impressed her, though she's loathe to admit it a small and tiny part of her wants to impress him as well. She's also quite sure that she'll never admit to that again either.

"When does the next group leave?"

"The last one leaves in two days, and then the rest of us are going. We hope that the Kings and Queens will show up in these woods, since this is where I blew the horn."

"Oh." It makes sense, and it also makes sense for her to leave now because she doesn't know what to say.

That night, she helps with the last raid just as she said she would. It makes her happy, helping, even if it's dangerous and gets her heart pounding. They do appreciate the help, and it makes her feel useful, needed, like she's not just a waste of space here, not one just hanging out and wasting time.

She still blushes at their thanks when it's over, however, and she can't help it. Even if she's doing something they appreciate, she can't shake the feeling that anyone else could do it too. Deep down, she knows she wants more than to just be a decoy, but she also understands that learning the art of war takes many years, and years are something neither she nor the Narnians have.

"I wonder sometimes if there's something I'm missing, you know?" she tells Suncloud the day before she leaves with the group for the How. They need someone to organize them there, and she remembers being good at organizing things, and she thinks she could be of use, even though Narnians are different than files.

"You can think on it, but you're doing so much already. More than we expected you to do, far more. You understand that we are grateful for that, don't you?"

She finds it far too easy to brush off the praise, especially in her own head. She's not doing anything special. If she's being honest, she's just using all this as a distraction, so she won't think of any of the other things that are fighting for attention in her mind. She knows a war is no place to have constant flashbacks, even though they're determined to plague her at night.

That's the other thing; her visits home at night are rare and sporadic. Sometimes she's there and without fail it's in the middle of the night when no one else is around, and most times she simply sleeps through til morning.

And what happens on Earth while she's here? Is she in some sort of coma, or is she just asleep? What do the doctors think? When will she be able to leave the hospital? It's stupid really, that one tiny whiff of paranoia was enough to land her in the hospital with surgery.

"I practically walked myself into that damn hospital," she whispers to herself one night, another night when she can't sleep and she's taken to the woods to think on her own.

"If I asked you what that was, would you tell me?"

"You really ought to stop sneaking up on me," Miranda tells the prince as he comes up behind her.

He chuckles lowly. "Perhaps you ought to sit facing the other way."

She slowly swivels to face him, grinning at him as the moon peeks through the trees. "And where would be the fun in that?"

Prince Caspian comes and sits on the log beside her, where he's taken to sitting the past few nights. It seems he has his own trouble sleeping. She's never asked, because it seems rude to inquire when he's never demanded answers of her. He hinted that one time, but ever since he's left the subject be. She's eternally grateful for that, especially when she knows he must be curious.

Maybe it's time to let him in, just a little little bit.

"You once asked me why I'm up at strange hours of the night. I never asked you, but now I'm too curious not to."

Prince Caspian's gaze goes to his hands, hands that wring and twitch with what she can only guess to be anxiety.

"My uncle," he finally says.

Miranda hesitates a moment before she decides to speak what she really thinks. That's what friends do, right?

"That's not all is it?"

He shakes his head, hair flopping and hiding his eyes. For some reason, it tugs on her heartstrings. She doesn't know why, and most of her doesn't like it.

"No."

"You don't have to tell me, Caspian. But if you need a pair of ears, mine are open."

He stays quiet for a long time, long enough for her to worry that she's offended him and he's not going to be here when she can't sleep any more. In her own way, she's come to depend on these quiet conversations, moments that feel stolen in the middle of the night, when they're really just matters of convenience.

"I wonder if I can do this, Miranda."

"Do what?"

He shrugs. "The war, leading the Narnians. I am a Telmarine; my ancestors trampled on them for years. What reason do they have to listen to me, to follow me?"

"The reason you gave them."

He looks over at her, but she doesn't take back her answer.

"I mean it. They believed that speech you gave them. You should believe it too."

Caspian stares at her long and hard, as if he's trying to figure out if she really meant what she said, and if she did, whether he should believe her or not. Miranda stays silent to allow him to sort it out on his own. It's what she would want him to do for her were their positions reversed.

After what feels like hours he nods, a simple dip and rise of his head that somehow means more to her than anything he could have said. They spend the rest of the night sitting quietly side by side, both looking out at the forest, and both, she thinks, feeling much calmer than before. She keeps getting the overwhelming feeling that she can trust him, only she isn't sure how yet. But she decides then, sitting on the log in the quiet of the greyish early dawn, that someday she will.

The sounds of the camp coming to life again force them to stand and walk back. Miranda sneaks a look up at Prince Caspian through her eyelashes as they go, and she's surprised to see him looking tranquil, at peace. It warms her deep down to think that some of that might be because of her.

When his hand brushes hers, whether by design or by accident, she doesn't pull away like she would expect herself to. His fingers wrap around hers and squeeze for half of a moment, and then the touch that sent a strange sort of spark through her is gone.

That was his thank you; she understands that. When he peels off to his tent to put on his armor over his nightshirt, she surprises herself by looking back, just once and only for a moment. She's never looked back at anyone before. Not since before that night she's been trying very hard to forget.

This, of course, brings much of it rushing back, and she hustles to her usual corner in the sleeping area and uses the excuse of folding the blanket she left rumpled haphazardly to block the thoughts. She doesn't have to think of that now.

By the time she sits down with everyone at breakfast, she's forced the memories down so far that she can barely remember what was bothering her in the first place. She humorously wonders if it's possible to do a psychological analysis on oneself, because her head is a strange place that she'd love to understand more.

Breakfast she spends with Suncloud, speaking of small things, mostly his childhood and hers, and getting into the more advanced getting-to-know-you stage. She's silently grateful to him for befriending her, for helping her overall feeling of security. She'll have to remember to thank him out loud, to his face, someday soon.

"When do you leave?"

Well, the conversation has switched to the daily schedules, another comfortable topic that Miranda has come to enjoy over the past few days.

"Soon after breakfast, I believe, so in less than an hour."

He grins wryly and winks at her. He's made a habit of this, she suspects because it looks so strange on a centaur's face that it makes her giggle.

"Try not to miss me too much, Mira."

Mira is his nickname for her, one that she's never had before and hence one that she likes very much indeed. She's considering having everyone call her that, but then it would stop being Suncloud's special nickname for her, and she likes having the simple reminder of their friendship.

"I shall do my utmost," she replies, attempting to imitate the Narnian disdain for contractions and informal speaking.

"Train hard while you're there."

She nods enthusiastically.

"I'll make sure I can at least match you by the time you slowpokes get to the How."

He snorts, a very appropriate thing in her opinion, seeing as how he _is_ half horse.

"A few days' training will not match you to me. I have been trained since I was but a colt."

"Then let's hope I've got some hidden talent for weaponry," she fires back.

The banter between them makes her feel welcomed, at home, here. It might just be one of her favorite things that they do.

Just then, the call goes out for the party leaving to assemble, and Miranda has to stand and say goodbye to her friend. He pretends to pout for a few seconds, a rather ridiculous sight, before bending over to give her a warm hug. Ever since she's explained the concept of bear hugs to him, he takes every plausible opportunity to attempt to crack her spine with them.

"You'll have to try harder next time," she wheezes after he lets go and her back hasn't cracked.

"I can try now," comes the twinkling reply that has her prancing away and laughing.

"Save it for when you come to the How and you've had the time to miss me."

He just waggles his head at her and shoos her on her way. She smiles as she goes, just because she's happy. Being happy feels good; it's a feeling she would love to get used to.

When she gets to the tree where the rest of them have gathered, she's a little intimidated that she doesn't know any of them. They seem nice enough, however, and introduce themselves with ease. Four fauns, a Minotaur, and a talking bear. The bear's name she remembers best: Bulgy. He seems a warm and cuddly sort, the kind of bear that she finds it easy to think of as a walking and talking stuffed animal.

She spends much of the first leg of the trip with him, for warmth now that autumn is on the way and there's a slight crisp chill in the air. And then there's the fact that he's a bear and he's taken a shine to her as well, and he's another person she knows is safe.

Only since coming to Narnia can she so easily differentiate between safe and unsure. It's nice, and it's new.

Why couldn't things be so simple back home?

Thoughts of her real life haven't plagued her much in the past two days, both because she's been busy and because she's been so content that it felt wrong to consider it. But here on the road, where only Bulgy really notices if she talks or if she's silent, it's a little easier.

'No. Thinking about it won't help,' she sternly tells herself. She knows she's right, but the temptation remains. Not knowing what's happening back home is a worrisome thing, so she can't really be blamed for letting it weigh on her. But there's nothing to be done about it.

"I don't suppose you have any honey?"

Bulgy's innocent question jerks her back to reality, and she silently thanks him. Out loud, she apologizes and says she doesn't, but if she ever finds some he'll be the first to know.

He babbles on about honey, presumably because he hasn't had any in a long, long while, and bears do love honey. Miranda thinks back on the large container of honey in the pantry back home, and she wonders if there's a way to get it here. But she can't think of a way, because she isn't physically traveling to and from Narnia. She comes here when she's asleep at home, and no other time.

Midday comes much sooner than she expected. She uses the opportunity to get to know her other companions, the fauns and the Minotaur, a bit better, to help her put faces to names and such.

The fauns are mostly focused on the war, so they spend some time discussing the current situation at the How, or at least the little they know, and how they can up the efficiency. The Minotaur is silent and solemn, but he's nice enough when she asks him things about himself.

They're back on their way after their meal, and they travel into the night, stopping only when the moon is high in the sky. Personally, Miranda is exhausted, and falls asleep almost as soon as she lays down. She finds herself instinctively curling into the tightest ball she can manage to protect herself among strangers. Needless to say, she sleeps closest to Bulgy Bear.

* * *

><p><strong>sarahwood - I'm glad you got that; I thought it was a good idea to at least bring you guys in on Miranda's backstory. As for Caspian, well, keep reading ;)<strong>

**Guest - Thank you! :)**

**Review!**


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